Hello M'Lady, Those Certainly Aren't the Hands of a Baby Seal Clubber

After exiting at my Metro stop last night some guy immediately sidled up to me and decided, unsolicited, to escort me part of the way up the block. His clipboard said Greenpeace; his look said slimeball. Now, I've grown accustomed to dodging the "Gotaminutefortheenvironment?" hippies. They're harmless. You just point over their shoulders and yell "Hey, is that Trey?!" and they scatter. But this guy was even better. And by that I mean worse. Much, much worse. As I was alighting from the escalator, I pulled on my fuzzy green wool gloves. He actually said the following after prefacing it with a creepy "heh, heh": "Allll riiiight, green gloves. You know what Greenpeace is all about dontcha? Heh heh." Ugh. I mean really? Is that all it takes to be simpatico with your organization, dude? Because following that logic, Kermit the Frog should be out on an inflatable dinghy blowing up Arctic oil wells. The guy would have been so disillusioned if he knew I was wearing my genuine, infant polar bear-fur unmentionables.