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Green Peace?

A Do-Gooder Confronts Reality One Insult At A Time

story and photo by Maddie Reynolds

I needed to get out of Colorado. As a Colorado native, immersed in the Rocky Mountains and groomed on lots of snow, it hit me one day that in spite of having a wonderful lifestyle I needed to experience something new. With California family calling me out, I packed up my car with some belongings and drove to the West Coast and the Pacific Ocean.

The living was great. I nestled into a canary yellow cottage three blocks from the beach in one of San Diego's hippie havens. I embraced the public-transit system, ate $2 lobster tacos almost every day, immersed myself heavily into the music scene and became a regular at Petco Park. Life was good but I needed a job.

I got one, a job that even paid exceptionally well. For four months, I worked for Greenpeace - an organization that saves the whales and pursues solutions to other environmental issues - begging people for their credit card numbers.

Some people could have mistaken me for a daytime hooker if it wasn't for the oversized polo shirt I wore and the binder cradled in my arms. I pleaded passersby for their time, sidled up to those who heeded my attention and batted my eyes for them to help me with a worthwhile cause. By the end of the gig, I had a better tan than I could get on a straight week of rafting a desert river. For the most part, the soliciting gig was great.

But no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, the filth of humanity was overwhelming. In spite of the goodness I felt for lending my voice for the earth that needed many voices (and I am not that big of a tree-hugger), I went home feeling battered and beaten, considering whether terrorism was a better career choice. My ritual evening walk on the beach proved a reliable recharge for doing it all again the next day.

On one particularly lucky morning of soliciting, I took a moment to stare off into the dreamy sea fog. Suddenly, I felt on my neck someone's hot, sticky breath, smelling of expensive, stale tobacco and fumes of rotting garlic. I turned to see an older man frowning at me.

"When are you going to grow up and get a college education and a real job?" he asked, all of which he sprayed into my face. He turned to walk into the store.

I was disgusted, only in part from the filthy shower. But also because I had just spent four years in college at the top of my class getting a college education. I had a real job. I held back from asking him how much he earned right out of college and whether his job was as awesome as mine. What bothered me more, though, was having him - it could have been anyone, really - assume so little of me. I had not even approached this man. He had approached me from behind, spat in my face and insulted me.

The rude encounters nor the spitting ended with this man. On break on a fine day, eyes closed while basking in the sun, I heard a shuffle of feet approach me. Then, I felt splatter on my foot. Opening my eyes, I saw a man standing before me, mouth wrenched to one side and eyes lowered on me. He barraged me with foul language that attacked both me and my organization, then turned and continued his shuffle down the street. With my jaw dropped, I realized that for the first time in my life I was the target of pure hatred. By a complete stranger!

After enduring many more encounters such as this, I learned something about humanity: Most people are crazy.

Over my four-month career with Greenpeace, I was spit at and yelled at. I had to duck things thrown at me. I got the "talk-to-the-hand" hand thrust inches from my face. I was insulted in more ways than I thought possible. But I also learned to not take any of it personally, though I found that task incredibly hard at times.

It was disheartening to witness first-hand how many people are against protecting the planet, but even worse is my experience with how easy it is for people to be unkind to others. I have also realized that to get positive change we need only a majority to make a difference, not to enlist every soul on the planet. Lessons learned.

I left the job for several reasons, primarily because of the mental wear. I refused to take it any longer. There were great days and amazing people, but few.

The next time you see someone holding a clipboard, by all means do not let yourself be talked into anything you don't want to do. But please understand that under the uniform is a person who goes home every night and leads a unique life, someone who simply believes in something and is trying to give purpose to his or her life and through that purpose bring positive change.