Expanding slowly into a warm glow as you come nearer, its pure yellow beams part delicately to reveal a scene you recognize without difficulty. It is the inside of an airline cabin, though larger and softer than any airline cabin you've ever seen.
And there you are, you're already in your seat! There you are, the business traveller in your late forties. Your hair is sparse and neat, your shirt powder blue. You're in good shape for a man of your age. Got to hand it to you!
Unfolding your Wall Street Journal, you begin to scan its contents.
But then the stewardesses approach. There are two of them to serve you in their pressed maroon uniforms. Their perfect Asian beauty shimmers through a veil of soft, filtered light, as in a dream. Their delighted expressions show them to be not merely happy to serve you--no, one must rather say that in serving you they realize the deepest meaning of their existence. To set that tray of discretely steaming intercontinental cuisine on your lap is their own personal Nirvana.
The tray is down, its starched white napkin folded prominently and proud. Your red wine is poured by the slender ivory hands of the second of the servers, who meanwhile shines on you a smile in which you can detect the slightest hint of playfulness, promise of all the secret pleasures of the Orient!
But now it's time for your nap. And here begins the unrealistic part. As you recline in your spacious leather chair and stretch out your legs, there advances a troupe of child angels. Flying each in his own bubble, they come to you slowly, laughing. A smiling girl angel with Vietnamese eyes playfully undoes the laces of your left shoe. A freckled Irish boy angel is pulling off your right. As the blonde child-angels begin to massage your weary feet, others busy themselves pulling a blanket over you, their white wings aflutter.
Now it becomes clear that you are no longer even in a seat in the first class cabin of a jet airplane. No, you are actually in a kind of gondola being lowered slowly--"Shhh! The Master might awake!"--onto the glassy surface of a misty lagoon. You float lazily on the still water through scenes of a golden city that is not so much the idealized image of Venice as it is a Venetian version of Art Nouveau Heaven.
A swan dips its beak into the water and you wake to the smell of a hearty egg breakfast. Fresh juice is being poured by the same hands that poured your wine before.
At this point in the commercial a sumptuous female voiceover informs you that these services were all provided by Idyllic Brain Fuck Airlines. The company logo appears on the screen over a background featuring a jet flying into a vast panorama of golden, sun-streaked clouds.
A second voiceover, this one male, comes in to cinch the deal: "Fly Idyllic Brain Fuck three times in any six-month period, and you are automatically eligible to join our exclusive VIP Club! For details, ask your travel agent."
[This commercial was produced by Eric Mader-Lin Advertising, Taipei. "Mader-Lin:Because you're worth it..." It was inspired by the ridiculous airline commercials regularly aired on CNN. It's true that Singapore Airlines should not alone be blamed for the raving slavering stupidity of these commercials, but they, alas, have produced the most offensive of the lot.]
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