The kind of people who work at Greenpeace have led lives that would either become bestsellers or make grown men cry. It’s really not a question of whether or not my co-workers are more interesting than yours; it’s really more of a question of how much more interesting they are. In one six-hour shift I age a year, partly due to the difficulty of the task, and partly due to the mind-numbing (literally) amounts of methamphetamines I’m forced to take, produced locally in my boss’s bathtub.

Sure, the average person is working in an air-conditioned office where they’re allowed to sit for more than fifteen minutes at a time and not at any given point sweating from their ass, but I’m talking to the lost children of Chicago. Indie hipsters, Hispanic mothers wearing spandex so tight you can count how many eggs they have left in those legendary ovaries of theirs, the drug addicts, the homeless, and the guy who pisses his pants while trying to sign up with you. Have you ever met anyone on the run from the law? Have you ever had two drunken girls at 2:30 in the afternoon compliment you on your physique? Have you ever gone on a three-day bender with nothing but thirty-five cents and a dream?

The people who can handle this job are the people you do not want to fuck with. Case in point (first time that joke’s been made on this site), my bosses.

Kate is a bubbly, wildly energetic woman who has told me on more than one occasion that she would ruin me if I were to take her to bed. Sure, she’s a decade older than me, but the fact that she vividly remembers the 80’s gives me an erection. So can a stiff breeze or a 10-year-old boy sitting next to me on the bus, but the fact that she remembers Jellies and made it through a decade of bad music, clothes, and food really makes me ache. But the doctors promised the medication would ease that particular problem.

Adam grew up in Dayton, Ohio, which brings to mind farm animals and one-toothed prospectors fucking those same animals, but is actually well known for its straightedge population. Adam was part of the original Courage Crew, a group of individuals who didn’t drink, smoke, or take drugs—which really makes you wonder if there’s something more to life than coasting on a chemical high for much of your waking hours. Right, there are hookers too.

Adam is not the Office Space boss. Adam is the man who pointed to his wildly attractive female employee’s rubber ducky underwear while she was bent over, grabbed me, and started mumbling, “That’s not fair. There is no God.” The man who frequently professes his hate for minorities and fires me on a daily basis for being one. He once grabbed Kate’s right breast, then shook himself and asked, “What happened? I blacked out.”

If possible, the employees themselves are even more fun than my bosses.

Red is called such because of his rust-colored beard, all that more improbable because his hair is brown. I’ve been told it maintains its healthy color because he dyes it in the blood of innocents every morning. Red is quiet until he gets frustrated, which is every ten minutes or so. This leads him to do things like going toe-to-toe with an enraged black woman after calling her selfish, drinking while on duty (explicitly not allowed), and telling random strangers he loves them.

Suzi is a bitter, angry drunk of a woman who I’ve got the biggest crush on. One random day I told her, “Suzi, I’ve got a secret for you.”

She looked at me and shouted, “If it’s your penis, I’m going to kill you.” That pretty much sums up everything you need to know about me or her.

Jay is the most depraved individual I’ve ever met, and believe me when I say he’s done things that are illegal in most states and is always lying when he says he loves you. He invented his own sexual maneuver, which is like calling a tiger a big cat, because “sexual maneuver” is too tame of a description for “The Pirate’s Plank.” Just days ago, Jay informed me about an accomplishment so vile I needed proof. He immediately called the girl in question, for a conversation I’ll never forget. The phone conversation, verbatim:

Me: Is it true, what Jay did to you?
Her:
If I’m going to answer, you’re going to have to say it out loud.
*Me, shuddering from the rush of blood to my groin*
Me:
Is it true that he… anally fisted you, and when he turned it around inside, you came?
Her:
Yes.
Me:
I’m in love. Get this fucking phone away from me. I need a cigarette and a shower.

And me? Well I’m interesting by default—I once told a woman, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t find me attractive.” To her credit, she replied, “I’m already a member of Greenpeace… and you are cute.” I also got drunk one night and hit on Kate until she handed me the official policy manual, open to the page on sexual harassment. And one time I got a blowjob in the storeroom of the office.

Welcome to our organization. Only the completely fucking crazy survive.


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