Read part one here.

Jimmy spoke for everyone when he asked, “No. Really. What’s with the get-up?”

The term “get-up” was in reference to John’s attire, consisting of blue Docker slacks (the ones that fade after the first wash and have a front pleat that serves no reasonable fashion purpose) and a button down shirt of adequate cleanliness and minimal wrinkles.

“I told you. I have a job interview.”

Big John Hudson had worked at the factory for more than 10 years, ever since he graduated from high school. The work was steady and the pay made the payment on his truck and gas in the tank, but John was starting to consider other options — much like he was considering switching from Match.com to eharmony.

No one was deterred by Big John’s protests. The conversation circled the table as each one continued to take their turn at trying to ascertain why John was dressed as he was. Each suggestion grew more questionable than the one previous,

“Performing in a symphony orchestra?”

“Planning on being shipwrecked and changing your name to Thurston Howell the Third?”

“I think he looks more like Gilligan,” mused Harry. His breakfast of a seaweed wrapped, egg white burrito, along with decaffeinated coffee, was making it difficult to stay on topic.

“I still think he’s got to go to court. What did you do?” Jimmy had always thought Big John looked like he had just done something wrong and no one knew because the authorities just weren’t competent enough to figure it out. He was sure that John was a criminal mastermind, living in their midst — hiding behind a mask of ineptitude. Of course Jimmy also subscribes to the theory that we really didn’t land on the moon. The whole thing was filmed on a sound stage — on Mars.

John continued to insist that he had a job interview.

His insistence finally prompted Tommy Jones, the elder and more reasonable member of the group, to ask, “Doing what?”

“Medical supplies.”

“You’re dealing drugs? You’re a drug mule?” queried Jimmy with a new-found belief in Big John’s secret criminal side.

“It’s a job delivering oxygen, and wheelchairs, and diapers to people that can’t breathe, get around, or…well…you know…need diapers.”

The chatter subsided slightly, as each one around the table considered the possibility of Big John Hudson serving the infirmed and incontinent. Tommy took John’s revelation more seriously than the others. As an octogenarian, Tommy was worried that his lifestyle might change and John might someday be the one delivering discrete packages to his side door.

“Do you have a resume?” asked Tommy, unsure as to how brilliant of an idea it might be to offer help and advice to someone who he might be seeing more regularly than just breakfast.

“You should have knowledge of something interesting,” Hannibal offered. “Be able to talk about things other than paintball and ninjas.”

“If the person interviewing you has a daughter that was once a cheerleader, don’t ask if she still has her pom-poms.” It sounded as if Arnold may have stumbled upon this one, firsthand.

“If the interview runs long and you get taken to lunch, don’t order anything that requires a bib.” Mort got this one off the internet, on a list of “Ten Things to Never Do In Front of Anyone of Importance.”

The circular job interviewing advice was free-flowing and lively. Each member of the cluster wanted to impart the best of his business acumen, regardless of their combined total lack of qualifications.

Finally, Big John looked up and realized, “This is the same advice you gave me on dating.”