Late one night, a copywriter, an art-director and a servicing guy were burning the midnight oil over a particularly tedious piece of work with a truly loathsome deadline. Frustrated by the stupidity of the job at hand, the creatives silently prayed to the gods of advertising, such as they might be, to deliver them from this evil.
Unfortunately, the gods of advertising had called it a day and had left office early to drink at the pub around the corner. So the call was taken by the only person around, a trainee god. But being a glory hound, and thirsty for public appearances (as trainees tend to be), he chucked the instruction manual in a dark corner and appeared before the threesome in a flash of divine intervention.
“So pleased am I by your toil”, he crooned, “that I shall grant each of you one wish.”
The three looked at each other. The writer thought he was having a pot-induced dream. The art director thought it was the vodka he had in the evening. The servicing guy put it down to the bad chicken he’d had for dinner.
The writer recovered first.
“I want a villa in Greece, where I can write my novel and become the most famous author in the world.”
The small god snapped his fingers and the writer disappeared.
Next, came the art director.
“I want a mansion in Italy, where I can paint to my heart’s content and become the greatest artist the world has ever known.”
Again, the god did the snapping bit and art director too, vanished.
Finally, the god turned to the servicing guy.
“What about you?”, he asked.
The servicing guy gave him a look of cold fury and replied,
“I want those two back here, RIGHT NOW!”