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Just outside the apartment there's this guy in black clothes, wearing a plastic Greenpeace shirt-cover, brilliant green with black letters. He's holding a sign that says SAVE THE PLANET and muttering something about trees or bushes or plants of some kind.
I get immediately angry, and I glance at Jordan, who sees this in my face, and says, Leave it alone.
Okay, I say.
As I walk past him he grabs me by the arm. Save the planet! he says, Contribute! He rattles a bucket in my face, the unmistakable sound of coins coming from it.
I look at his hand and he releases my arm, smiling.
Save the planet? I say, Do you realize that the shirt-cover you have on is made of plastic?
He looks confused.
I say, Your premise is, essentially, that I should give money to Greenpeace, who will put it together with the millions in donations it gets a year, so they can basically buy plastic shirts and give them to volunteers to wear so they can go out and ask for even more donations?
It takes a while for him to process this, but finally he reacts, Well, that's not all we do!
Okay, mention a single project you've helped with to make this city ecologically sustainable, I say.
Blank stare.
Then I say, Or tell me about Greenpeace activities in South Africa, to stop the dependence of poor farmers on stupid exports that end up in so-called first-world countries with subsidies so high that they end up cancelling all the so-called debt-relief and the dirty money they give out in so-called aid.
Blank stare. I can almost see subtitles under his face, a progress bar stuck half way and the text below it, blinking, that says, Loading...
I say, you know, if you're going to save the planet, you better read up on a couple of things beforehand. Maybe stop begging for money and actually do something.
He stutters a moment, then says, You are the reason why we're so screwed up.
Oh yeah, you think so? I say, and I take out my wallet and pull out my greenpeace membership card.
I show it to him. He looks at the card, then back at me, then back at the card. He doesn't say anything. I can tell that now he is afraid, trying to figure out who I am. I think, Well, if that's the case, then pick a number and get in line.
I say, Or maybe you should at least memorize a couple of good answers if an idiot starts asking questions.
Jordan touches me in the arm.
What? I say.
She says, the taxi is here.
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7:32:51 PM 
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