Mr. White sat uneasily in the chair as the interview began. It had been a while since his last foray into the job market. He was uneasy about this whole process.

“At a time when we are letting people go, I was told to talk to you about a possibility of bringing you on board. I’m not exactly sure why,” said Mr. Broadend, as he leaned his large executive chair back and studied Mr. White.

“Let’s face it, sir. Your company is in trouble. Mammoth Automobiles has been in deep doo-doo for a while. All of Detroit is in trouble. You’re going hat-in-hand to the government to get bailed out, aren’t you?” Mr. White began. “I can help you. I have ideas.”

“Talk to me, son.” Mr. Broadend interlocked his fingers across his stomach and prepared to listen.

“Everyone says you made big mistakes sticking with huge SUVs. The Mammoth Bajeezuz was considered the worst, just because it takes up two parking spots and can’t fit in an indoor parking garage. It gets a two gallons a mile. But, it’s what the people want. You sell them, don’t you?”

Mr. Broadend nodded his head. “Yes, but not enough.”

“That’s because you don’t tell the American people the right message. That’s where I fit in. See, here’s what you do… Tell the people that Real Americans drive a Bajeezuz. Show that guy driving down the road in Real America, gun rack in the back, cigarette from his mouth, deer strapped across the hood. A man needs to know the Bajeezuz was built for him. I’m not talking that mamby-pamby city guy that only worries about fuel economy and smaller carbon footprints. That guy probably drives a Toyota and drinks French wine.

“But out there, in Real America, is the Bajeezuz owner, who just doesn’t know it yet. You need to make him angry. Get him worked up. When the illegals come pouring over the border to take over our country, do you want to be caught in a Prius or a Bajeezuz?”

Mr. Broadend started getting excited. “A Bajeezuz, of course.”

“Darn right. When the Iranians and the Russians raise oil prices, do you want to let them know they are getting to you?” Mr. White said, starting to stand up and raising his voice.

Mr. Broadend leaned forward. “Oh, heck no.”

“Shouldn’t Real Americans drive Real American cars, something big, takes up space and says, by God, my God, I am an American!” Mr. White stood fully erect, saluting.

Mr. Broadend jumped up. “You’re right. It isn’t that we built shoddy, oversized gas guzzlers because we had no imagination! It was because that is what Real America wants. They were right about you. We need you getting that message out there. You have the pulse of Real America. We need someone experienced like you telling America that the Mammoth Bajeezuz is what they have always been waiting for and run out to buy one now!” Mr. Broadend was worked up now, wiping the sweat from his wealthy brow. “Oh, one last question. What was it you used to do?”

Mr. White sat down, looking at the floor. “Strategist for the Republican National Committee.”