Greenie

2009, Sean Dooley, Cooking With Baz, Large Print 16pt Edition, page 25, ‘And whadda you want?’ the barman spat at me. Above his head was a large sign that read ‘Fertilize the Bush – Doze in a Greenie’. I was dressed in a flannelette shirt and army trousers – exactly like the Greenie protestors they′d been battling the previous year.

People ask me if am I a greenie and I go, ‘No, not in the sense that I chain myself to trees, no I′m not. But in the sense that I am concerned about the environment and do my little bit to help, then yes I am.’

“What′s a greenie doing with a gas hog like that?”

At Alcova, the problem is compounded for the fool or fools when they have greenie license plates and behave like tourists. The growing combative presence in their rear is chalk full of true Wyoming grit.

In every kitchen arises the acrid tang of green- tomato pickle, chutney, chili; on every south-facing kitchen windowsill the most promising greenies line up to be coaxed ripe.

Mid-August, normally prime berry-picking time, came and went. Still too many greenies.

The only way I could keep up with the veteran pickers was to pick almost every strawberry in my row — ripe, unripe, overripe or damaged. ... Then he would pay me 2 cents a quart for the good ones and charge me a penny for the "greenies."

[…]“When the teacher says ‘Good Morning,’ you say, ‘Fuck You.’ That′s what you say in America.” Sometimes they varied this with “son of a bitch.” Sure enough the greenie parroted these instructions to the merriment of the classroom.