What’s a Sawzall Between Friends

You wouldn’t buy a sawzall just because you thought it would be handy to have. If you had need of one for a one time use, you’d borrow one. But if you were, say, building yourself a workshop in the barn, and there was going to be a lot of cutting and fitting, you might justify the expense and go out and get yourself one. Then, after the project was done, any time you found that a sawzall would be handy to have, you’d have one. You wouldn’t use it very often, but you would find it useful from time to time.

So it would be no big deal if a friend of yours who’d stopped by when you were working on the workshop project, had need of a sawzall and, remembering that you had one, asked to borrow it. “Sure,” you’d say. “It’s in the barn on the shelf under the workbench. It’s in a red steel carrying case.Help yourself.” And your friend would borrow the saw, use it and then bring it back all neatly put away in its case.

He’s working on a project, this friend of yours, and a week or so later, finds he has need of a sawzall again. He calls you: “Hey would it be ok if I borrowed your sawzall again for a day or two?” “Sure. no problem.” and after a couple of days, he brings it back. But he finds he needs it again before too long and he calls: “Hey I could use that sawzall again. Are you using it for anything right now?” “Nope. Go ahead and take it.” And you haven’t really noticed it, but there’s been a slight change. Instead of “your sawzall, it’s now “that sawzall.”

He borrows it once more and this time it’s gone for a couple of weeks. Of course, its not something you think about; your sawzall is not exactly in the forefront of your mind, but one day you have need of it and you go into the workshop to get it but it’s not there. You remember that your friend has it, and you call him. “Hey, are you done with my sawzall? I could use it.”  “Oh man,” he says. “I never brought it back, did I? Tell you what, ok if I shoot it over to you tomorrow?” “Sure, that’ll be fine. Thanks.” Another subtle little shift that you don’t really notice: you’re thanking him for bringing it back.

Some time goes by. There’s a knock on the door. You answer it, and it’s your friend. “Hey,” he says. “I just stopped by to pick up the sawzall. I’m still in the middle of this project. That is if you’re not using it.” “Nope,” you say. “Not using it at the moment.” “Great,” he says. “I’ll just go out in the workshop and grab it.” “Sure thing,” you say, “And hey, while you’re here, do you know where the carrying case is? It was in a red steel case. Last time you brought it back, it wasn’t in its case.”  “Red steel case? Yeah, you’re right. It was, wasn’t it. I‘ll have to look around. Glad you reminded me.” And there have been a couple more subtle shifts. One is that he’s treating it like it was his own, not keeping it in its case, and the other shift is that it’s not “your sawzall” or “that sawzall” any more, it’s now “the sawzall.”  “The sawzall” sort of has a ring to it that suggests that ownership of it is not as clearly understood as it was in the beginning.  You’ll be aware of all this in retrospect as you look back on it, but for now, it doesn’t really register.

Anyway, he brings it back this time after a few days—in its case. All the extra blades are missing, but the saw is in its case. The case doesn‘t latch, because of the big dent in the lid, which causes the latch parts not to line up, but it’s in its case. And it’s back where it belongs, on the shelf under the workbench where it’ll be handy in case you need it. Except that when the time comes that you need it, you go out to get it and it’s not there. You wonder where it is, and you look around for it with no luck and the mystery is not solved until a day or two later when you run into your friend at the general store and you ask him about it. “Sawzall?” he says. “Oh geez, I remember. I stopped by to pick it up one day, and you weren’t there. so I just grabbed it. I forgot to tell you. Man, that must have been six months ago. So what’s up? You need it?”

You do need it and he graciously tells you it’s in his garage somewhere and you’re welcome to go ahead and grab it. So you do. and there’s been one more subtle shift. The sawzall pretty clearly resides at his place now, not yours.

You find it on the floor in the garage—stuck to the floor of the garage—lying in a puddle of nearly dry and very sticky green paint from a spilled paint can, but you manage to wipe most of the paint off it and it still runs, so no real harm done. Except that you can’t find the case. But you take it home, and after a trip to the hardware store for a blade, you cut the pipe and put the saw on the shelf under the workbench where it stays until the day your friend calls and asks if you’re finished with it. “I thought you just had to cut a piece of pipe,” he says. “Look. I’m on my way to town. How about if I just stop by and grab it?”

And you think, well, he’s my pal, and I don’t use the saw all that much. If I need it I can always go get it. No sense making a fuss about it.  So he stops by and grabs it—in a proprietary way—and the sawzall stays at his place from then on. Slowly, incrementally, over a period of a year and a half or so, It has become his. You don’t really think that he intended that from the start, although you’re also not entirely sure that he didn’t, but that’s been the outcome. Anyway, you have other things to worry about. The last time you saw your friend, he mentioned that he’d seen a portable planer in your workshop.