THINKTANK SUPERCHIVA

by yaron

So I was in a chiva the other day, and it was hot. The music started playing, but I struggled to keep my concentration. You see, since coming back from Los eStates, I've been trying to break myself of the habit of entering a trance-like state in chivas, even when I hear the first notes of any homage to Victorio (more on that next episode); so I started glancing around the chiva, looking for distractions, something to focus on. Well, you can imagine my surprise when I saw the newest addition to the chiva dashboard menagerie. Sure, there was the usual forest of scent trees hanging from the ceiling at various strategic locations throughout the length of the vehicle. Of course, there were bumper stickers everywhere, with invocations to God for divine protection posted next to clever-yet-subtle sexual innuendos. Claro, there were shiny CDs hanging from the rearview mirror, gently swaying back and forth and inducing a state of hypnosis in the otherwise unruly passengers. But none of these things caught my eye. No: what I saw, what grabbed my attention like the bouncing ball that you follow to read song lyrics on television, was a pack of Head-Bobbin' Dodo Dogs. I couldn't take my eyes off of the things. My first reaction was one of hope - if these things are produced here in Panamá, they may single-handedly revive the marginal industrial sector, because they are poised to take the world by storm. Finally, a product that is completely effective in eliminating from the driver's consciouscness such distractions to really good driving as signs, road markers, and oncoming traffic. And what better way to sharpen the driver's reflexes than to have a constant source of motion just on the periphery of his field of vision? I immediately set myself the task of inventing even more fun and diverting dashboard toys. How's this: a Jack-in-the-box, attached to and powered by the fan belt, that explodes periodically at unpredictable moments, ambushing the unwary driver. Or this: paste onto the windshield one of those computer-image pictures that I can never see where you have to unfocus your eyes and then the random scribbles turn into a sailboat. Only maybe there could be a picture of a nice landscape or something. What a test of the driver's ability to maintain his focus! Or maybe even this: following the example of many taxis in Panamá, chivas can come factory-ready with completely tinted windshields. How cool would that be? Sure, none of these new toys have quite the mesmeric quality of the Dodo Dogs, but then I'm no entrepeneur. I leave it to the new business volunteers to produce and market their own lines of inspired and eye-catching chiva chechere: toys that will help us all avoid those dull stretches on the roads of Panamá.

So I was on a chiva the other day, and it was hot. We were well into the third consecutive homage to Victorio, and I was bleeding from the ears. I had lost consciousness some time before, as has been my habit for the past two years, but I suddenly jumped in my seat, startled out of my reverie by a daydream in which, back on the streets of Los Angeles and behind the wheels of a car, I almost kill many, many people because I am no longer the attentive driver I once was. Sadly, this was more than just a daymare - these visions have been coming to me ever since my trip home in October, when I slipped into the driver's seat of a car for the first time in two years. You see, while it is true that, like riding a bicycle, you never forget how to drive a car, nevertheless it is possible to acquire some bad habits. For two years now, entering a motor vehicle has meant sinking into the semi-conscious quasi-existence, the drooling, sub-human state that is the ineluctible modality of chiva-space. Basically, I pass out. It can't be helped. And while this poses no obvious threat for a chiva passenger (indeed, it can only be psychologically beneficial to be unaware of the number of near-death experiences that each journey entails), this becomes a different matter when translated to the streets of America. At home, while driving, I found it very difficult to concentrate on the road - a fact I kept concealed from my friends the passengers - and I often found myself barely recovering from a nearly fatal mind-drift. Needless to say, this is an exceptionally important issue that has not yet been addressed in the Peace Corps' COS reentry packet. The time for action is now, before I'm back on the streets again. Much like divers that come up too fast and must be decompressed, chiva passengers who wish to drive must be cured of their highway narcolepsy. I propose the Chiva Reeducation Simulator, to be administered as part of the COS medical evaluation. Exiting volunteers enter a driving simulator that monitors brain activity and administers small-but-effective electric shocks to sensitive parts of the body in the event that said volunteers should nap. I caution you all to heed my warnings - the life you save could be Yaron (get it? it's a pun). As a final note, I wish to thank all of my loyal readers - well, actually, only Eric reads this - so I wish to thank Eric for his support of Thinktank Superchiva, a column that I will not continue in the states because it would lead to the premature institutionalization for yours truly. As this is the last time I will write this column, unless I find my last two months unfulfilling or I have an epiphany aboard a chiva that must be shared, I would like to take this final opportunity to promulgate my chiva-immitates-life equanimity philosophy. Basically, it's the secret to the good life, and it goes like this: always take the window seat.