ABC: Always Be Closing

After Calen took the dramamine laced with heroin and our 12 hour bus ride, we arrived in San Cristóbal de las Casas which is a city with features as poetic as it's name. Our first stop, well, our second stop after we brushed our teeth in the bathroom at the bus terminal (the Brothers Dr. Mann would be so proud) was the internet cafe where the propietor had seen fit to decorate his establishment with novelty posters of homer simpson portrayed as different famous and historical figures including Hitler. I have no idea.

Without a plan, we got lucky and after walking 12 blocks stumbled into a pretty awesome hostel with a view and caretakers who were the very first spanish speakers I have met on this trip who took to heart my little spiel about how I'm just learning and if you slow down I can understand perfectly. We've actually had conversations. Its been nice.

I think Calen and I both agree that this is our favorite place. The weather is amazing and the pace of life is right in the middle of a bustling metropolis like mexico city and nothingness beachtopless like mazunte (I forgot to mention that there was a nude beach next to the one we were at, which didn't matter, because no one was there). There is also a distinct lack of impending threats to one's safety in San Cris. Drivers, even taxis, slow down to let you cross the street. The sidewalks are more or less well maintained. And like most landlocked, mountain towns, there aren't any sharks here either. Something about the elevation throws off their equilibrium. In fact, the most threatening thing in San Cris is the risk that the temperature might drop a few extra degrees and you might have to put on a long sleeve shirt. I guess the cold could constrict your blood vessels, increasing your blood pressure, causing an anhuerysm. Its rough. But its also a low risk scenario, so its endurable. In light of all these new developments, I'm decreasing the terror alert level of this trip to mauve.

After our siestas, a custom which we have embraced whole heartedly, we went out to find some food and instead we found gelato. As far as Mexican versions of things found in the US, like pizza and tacos, the gelato was a red on the terror alert meter. For those of you having trouble understanding the meter, that's the point. That's alwas been the point. Meters don't mean shit. Not even when they're emblazoned with a homeland security logo. After our naps and gelato (we're roughing it) we did what anyone raised in California would do, we hired a set of personal shoppers. Two cute little girls with the salesmanship and determination of those guys from Boiler Room (and maybe the same tanning bed because they had a brownish hue to their skin indicative of either a dedication to ultraviolet or genetics.) tried to make us buy some of their crap. About 20 minutes earlier, Calen had been outlining our goals for the evening and they were to eat and get one of those sweet Mexican sweatshirt jacket dealies. The two little girls came into the restaraunt where we had finally found food and tried to give us the hard sell. After finding out they were called panchos, we told them exactly how calen wanted one to look. They left and returned in 5 minutes with 3 that fit the description. There was even one with a zipper and two pockets. We called it the Shakur. Calen tried them on and they had nailed his size with nothing more than a look, so we had to buy one. It was about 8 bucks. We pretended to be outraged, so they didn't know we were pushovers. We didn't want to leave with a dozen panchos and 46 friendhsip bracelets as I'm sure we would have had they had their way. After dinner, 2 blocks outside of the restaraunt, we found another woman who sold one to me, without negotiation for 5 bucks, again nailing the size. I guess 3 dollars is the going rate for personal service and dinnertime delivery in this part of Mexico. We weren't mad at it. Food and panchos. Check and check.

There was one other kid who came in the restaraunt to sell wooden toys. We didn't buy any because they had no artistic merit of any kind. And I have standards that even 10 year olds must adhere to. But he did earn himself a peso and two avocados. Not for salesmanship. Not for tenacity. He earned his money for being dumb. In retrospect, it probably wasn't his fault. But facts are facts even if they're a bit sad. And even if I recount them like a tactless jerk. I asked him his age. He said 10. I asked him if he was in school and he said yes. I asked him if he knew multiplication and he said yes. I asked him what 10 times 10 was and he said 1000. When I told him know (because that's how he would have wanted me to spell it), it was 100 he argued with me and said that 100 is the answer to 10 plus 10. Eventually he came around to my way way of thinking when I threatened to call the Hot Cops if he didn't. I then asked him what the capital of the state of chiapas was. He answered mexico. I didn't bother to correct him. I just moved on to the next question which was what is the capital of mexico. He answered north. After the conversation came to a close, I realized that he might have been 0 for 6 including being incorrect about his own age and school attendance. His commitment to wrong answers inspired me, thus the peso and avocados. I hope that my satire, distasteful as it may be, brings attention to a broader issue. School might be an important part of helping these kids to grow up and live lives beyond goals of mere subsistence. But maybe I'm wrong. I don't think I would have been as likely to give that kid a peso if he got even one question right. I've got a lot of thinking to do about my role in this situation. Great.

It looks like the Zapatista thing is going to work out after all, thanks to the efforts of a teacher I had in high school. It turns out some of them really do care and are even willing to put their neck on the line and help out a student 10 years later. It has really changed my perspective on things because I always thought teachers just got into the business for the money.

You know what some teachers teach? Science. And some of that science was developed by scientists. And some of those scientists were men. And you know what that means. Its time to play get a street named like how they do in Mexico City. Our suggestion for congress or whoever picks the names of streets today is Deductive Universal Forms of Plato Boulevard. It may seem egotistical to refer to a set of testicles as "Universal Forms." But let's allow the guy a bit of honor.