No Peace from Greenpeace

Todo, we're not in Kansas anymore.

As a misplaced Midwesterner living in SOCAL, (and no, that isn't just a term for the overpriced Hollister t-shirt, people actually do say that. Because, obviously, it is far too much effort to say southern California. These people have busy, important lives and benefit vastly from that 0.3 seconds they save in substituting the "word" SOCAL for an actual geographical region. But I digress...) Where was I? Oh yes, misplaced.

As a misplaced Midwesterner living in San Diego, I occasionally encounter some sharp reminder that this is a different world. When I first left the windy plains of Oklahoma for the big cities and populated beaches of San Diego, I expected to be a martian set down in Times Square- obviously, painfully out of place. I was certain I would be bearing some sort of scarlet letter, an assurance to gawking Cali girls (with their daisy dukes and bikinis on top) that I was merely a stranger in their presence and not some version of themselves gone prudishly awry. However, despite my Hestor Prine daydreams, I came to realize that for the most part, I was unremarkably similar to the inhabitants of California.

Yet, every once in a while, there stumbles across my path a vivid reminder that there are differences between the two places.

Exhibit A: Greenpeace.

What I know about this organization is limited to a card from the game of Life... or maybe it was Monopoly? Regardless, some board game I played as a child required me to pay my good, hard-earned paper money to something called Greenpeace. This was always very frustrating, watching my pink and blue bills disappear to some fund for whales. So, needless to say, when I left the nearby grocery store to see a couple young men with ocean blue shirts sporting the name, I was intrigued. Granted, not intrigued enough to stop and engage with their cause, but interested enough to take a glance.Unfortunately, that glance was met by a semi-crosseyed gaze of one of the advocates. And that was the end.

I played the "Pretend I didn't see you looking at me" card but to no avail. Even as I briskly passed the table full of biodegradable flyers, I saw my gazer, Oceanman we'll call him, begin to move towards me. Thinking I could outpace him, ( I am young, after all, and therefore automatically superb to everyone, right?) I quickened my step, nearly rounding the corner to the sanctuary of the street, when he caught up to me. And surprised me.

"You have a heart for the ocean," Oceanman called from just behind me.

Caught off guard, I made the fatal mistake of turning around.

"What? Did you say I have a heart for the ocean??" I asked, wondering what that even meant. Was my heart some sort of biological freak show, maybe beating in time to the crashing of waves or its pace increasing with the tide? If that's the case, I doubt a Greenpeacer has the medical expertise to help me.

Pleased that he finally had my direct attention, he nodded. Taking off his necklace and waving it in front of my face like a hypnotist does to a dozing subject, he explained, "See these shells? These are from the ocean. You love these shells. You love the ocean. I can just tell."

Sincerely amused now, I gave in, ready to engage in what I was certain would be a delightful conversation to store in my mental file cabinet. With no verbal encouragement from me, Oceanman continued.

"Do you know what we've done? We've built (insert some eco-friendly, fish-friendly, ocean-friendly term that I can't remember) all along the coast of California! We have saved fish from being hunted and preserved their natural habitat! That's cool right? And guess what else. Do you think it's better to prevent oil spills or clean them up? (no answer) Prevent, right? (still no answer) Right!" he jabbered, barely taking the time to breathe, much less wait for my response. "This is the kinda stuff we're about. So why don't we come back to the booth and get you signed on!".

There it was. Finally, the pitch. I'd wondered what he was selling. Sign ups. That was his particular product. Realizing I'd gathered all the entertainment I likely would from my friend, I began the drawn out process of escape.

"No, that's okay," I smiled, "I don't think so". But Oceanman was not giving up that easily.

"Well, you agree we need to save the oceans right? I mean, you think that we should like, ya know, protect them and stuff for the future generations," he persisted, agitatedly taking off his straw hat, complete with a giant blue fish embroidered on the top, and running his hands through his long, curly hair.

Not certain if that was a question or a statement, I replied, "Yeah, I think what you guys are doing is great. I admire your passion, I really do. But (unlike what he had assumed) this is actually not where my heart is. There are other things I'm involved in that I care about a lot. This just isn't one of them. I couldn't really give y'all (hoping Southern charm might serve me here) the enthusiastic work you need. Thank you for your time, though".

I did good, if I may say so myself. Diplomatic yet direct, kind but cautious. I was sure that was the end of the encounter and I began to turn away. Alas.

Oceanman had not given up. Trying another tactic, he circled around to face me again.

"That's a sweet rock," he commented, gesturing to my very cheap, very plastic necklace. "Can I see it?" A little uncomfortable at his reaching hand, I quickly pulled it as far from my body as I could. "What kind of stone is this?" Oceanman inquired.

"Ummm..." I stammered, "it's not real. I think it's from Target."

"Right on, right on. Well here, let me bless it for you." Now truly concerned for the well being of my  necklace not to mention the neck which its chain was cutting into, I stared as my new friend held the little turquoise stone in his palm, mumbling as he waved his other hand across the top of it. Laughing, he finished and tapped it against his beaded bracelet, stating "Fake on fake baby!", as if that should help me make some sort of sense of the past 30 seconds.

Ocanman continued, as if there had not just been a necklace blessing, and said,"Listen, you are already a Greenpeacer. With your little necklace and your cool sunglasses and overalls and braids. I can tell that you really care about people (he can?) and that you're already doing great things in your community (I am?). So why not just commit, come sign up, and let us count your contributions. We're just making what you already do official!" he exclaimed.

At this point, I was really ready to go. So I tried on last attempt at consideration. "I just need some time to think about it," I excused myself. "I need to do some more research about Greenpeace, I don't know that much about it. I'm not from California and..."

"You're not from California?!?!" was the interrupting cry of Oceanman. "Where are you from?", as if the idea that anyone dressed like me, who's obviously doing great things in the community, could come from anywhere else.

"I'm from Oklahoma", I replied, mentally adding 'where Greenpeace sounds like a part of a golf course and conservation is nearly a swear word'. "So I just want to learn more about this before I just sign up for it", I continued, sure that there was no way he could get around this argument.

"Well, I'll be here till 6 (it was 5:30) so that's plenty of time to go check out or website and come back and see me. I think it's time for you to step up, commit, and just make it all official. I have so many people promise me they'll come back later and I wait and wait and they never come back. Don't be like those people," he asserted, extending his hand to me. Nodding my mental disagreement, I shook his hand. With the desperate attempt of a drowning argument, he looked me (as best he could with his crossed eyes) in the eye and said, "So I'll see you later?"

"Maybe," was all I could muster before booking it around the corner and releasing the giggles I'd been socially thoughtful enough to keep inside.

I didn't go back. And (this is a big step for me) I didn't even feel guilty for disappointing someone. Although, occasionally throughout that day, I wondered about my Oceanman friend. I wondered what his life is really like. What is it that compels him to so outwardly harass passerby? Is he just a man living for a passion? Or does he so vehemently fill his world with a cause in hopes of overlooking the holes in it?

California is different. No, there is no wicked witch of the West, unless you count the psychic shop down the street. And no, there's no munchkins, advising me to follow a road of yellow bricks.  But the fact remains. While there's no place like home, I'm beginning to think there aren't too many places like California either.