Big John Hudson was looking for a new job. He was concerned that his current position, discreet home delivery of adult diapers to aging Baby Boomers, could be a dead-end career path.

Although not usually prone to deep thinking, John had started to consider the reality that the Boomer pool was as full as it was ever going to get — and the pool was starting to leak. John’s fear was that his retired and aging Baby Boomer clientele would not stick around until his own retirement.

The members of the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club were all Baby Boomers except for Tommy Jones (at 82, a member of the Greatest Generation) and Big John Hudson (at 30, a member of the Mostly Confused Generation). They all took umbrage with John’s economic forecast.

Mort suggested John might be best suited to sell Fuller Brush products door-to-door, Tommy proposed he try on the idea of being an elevator operator, and Firewalker advised that he might be skilled enough to handle being a milkman or even a service station attendant.

“Have you looked at a calendar, lately?’ snorted Harrison Winkle. “John needs a job for today.”

“With elevator operator skillsets,” quipped Jimmy. “And I know just the gig, for him.”

The entire circle of breakfast diners (along with most of the people at the nearby tables), stopped eating, talking, belching, and other breakfast-at-the-diner related activities, just to hear what Jimmy had to say. What was, “just the gig,” for Big John Hudson? You could cut the suspense with an orange marmalade knife.

Jimmy leaned in, looked around the room and then around the table, gave John a nod and a knowing wink, and said in a very untypically hushed voice, “John, I’m going to offer you a chance to get in on the ground floor of the greatest idea ever to hit the Service Industry. This is a job even you can do.” The table fell silent (as did the surrounding eavesdroppers) as Jimmy continued with his pitch. “I’m talking about Fitbit walking.”

“Huh?” It was such a brilliant idea that Big John Hudson was reduced to mumbling mono-syllabic replies. “Wha?” And less than complete mono-syllabic replies.

“Hear me out,” Jimmy continued. “Lots of folks want the fun of having a pet, but don’t want the hassle of taking them for walks, and they especially don’t want the hassle of bagging up the evidence of such walks. What do they do? They hire people to walk their dogs and bag up after them.”

“I would never hire someone to walk my dog,” snorted Harry.

“You’ve got a cat,” grunted Mort. “Cats don’t go for walks. They have staff for that. How does this idea of yours work?” Mort was intrigued with the possibilities of Jimmy’s plan.

“People want the fun of bragging about how many steps they put on their Fitbits each day. But, they don’t really like the hassle of actually having to take all of those steps. I am offering you the first-ever, regional franchise for Fitbit walking. Anyone in your protected region that doesn’t feel like putting in 10,000 steps, and doesn’t want to feel guilty when their Fitbit starts to nag them about slacking off, can give you their Fitbit for the day and you will do the walking for them – all for a reasonable fee. It’s a win-win,” swanked Jimmy. “The Fitbit Generation gets to feel good and you get to make a pooper scooper full of money.”

“There is only one problem with your plan,” laughed Firewalker. Big John would have to walk 10,000 steps.”

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.