He launched right into a list of the "most effective" commercials on television at the time. As I recall, they sounded like high-tech, slickly edited, big budget ads for cars, airlines, jeans, shaving cream, beer, etc. The sort of ads that should have been touching me to the core of my consumer existence, inciting me to rush out and spend, spend, spend, and he described each one with loving pride. Not that he'd had a hand in creating any of them, but he was obviously a guy who loved his work. These ads represented the cutting edge of his chosen religion -- mass marketing -- and he was anxious to hear how I'd responded to them.

I hadn't seen a single one.

He was flummoxed, shocked, stunned. Couldn't believe that anyone my age could have escaped the most carefully calculated efforts of his profession. "Well then, if I hadn't seen these examples of advertising perfection, what then," he asked, "was the last commercial I had seen on television that had really affected me?"

I didn't hesitate to answer. It was 540-WAKE.

"540-WAKE?" he asked with uncomprehending disdain.

"Yeah, 540-WAKE," I said. "The one they show about 3 a.m. on the local stations during Star Trek reruns. You know, with the big hairy 'actor' dressed as a sleeping caveman who gets woken up by a 'sabre-toothed tiger,' which is really just a large stuffed animal that some minimum wage-earning production assistant edges on camera. Next morning he decides he's had enough of being awakened by primitive predators and opts to call 540-WAKE, the telephone wake-up service."

The market researcher began to fidget nervously in his seat. "Oh, is that right," he said. "And just what was it about that ad that you liked so much?"   

"Everything!" I practically shouted. "From the deep inner meaning of the human evolution metaphor to the goofy look of Neanderthal perplexity as the hero clumsily dials the telephone, it's 60 seconds of quality television. Best of all," I said, "was the fact that the ad was totally memorable yet probably cost about 700 bucks to produce. If I ever needed to wake up early, I wouldn't hesitate to reach for the phone and dial 540-WAKE." 

I could see his mind was racing. He was trying desperately to define my place in the marketing universe, fearful that I represented a breach in his concept of all that was right and good in the world. Suddenly, a look of calm came over his face.

"Demographically speaking," he concluded, "you don't exist."

I wasn't sure how to take this at the time. But I suppose I've tried to carry the distinction with honor all these years by consciously avoiding mainstream advertising as best I could. Until last week, at least. Blame it on the election debacle, but I was riveted to the tube every night and for some perverse reason didn't lunge for the channel switcher every time an ad came along. 

And what did I conclude after this immersion into the dark heart of Madison Avenue manipulation?

Somebody must be buying a lot of sport utility vehicles. 

There were a few other ads that caught my attention, like the software spot that uses "Come Together" as its theme (all right, 'fess up, who's to blame? Yoko? Paul? Jacko?). But mostly it's an endless parade of SUV's across the tube all night long, hauling ass up mountainsides, plodding through troughs of mud, trampling rainforests, transmogrifying into aggressive computer-animated creatures while promising to put their drivers in touch with "animal instincts".

I think that all of these ads would make my old friend the market researcher proud. They are high-tech, megabuck productions that hone in on some inexplicable inner drive in the psyches of demographically embodied Americans to dominate and plunder. And the ads seem to be doing their job. I see these gas-guzzling behemoths all over the streets of Manhattan, their front grilles emulating the snarl of an angry carnivore as they ride high above the few ordinary mortals left to cower beneath them. I often wonder why on earth anybody would need such a vehicle to drive from the Upper East Side to Greenwich, CT, or the Hamptons. But then another ad described one SUV as an 'urban assault vehicle', so there you have it. And besides, demographically I don't exist, so how could I possibly understand anyway.

Anyway, late one night when I'd heard just a bit too much shouting between Democrats and Republicans, not to mention blather about SUV's, an astounding sight appeared before me. It was the 540-WAKE caveman. The very same one all these years later still fending off the sabre-toothed tiger. I was so excited that I actually picked up the phone and called the number. I think I just needed to confirm that I wasn't having some sort of weird TV timewarp flashback.

"Welcome to 540-WAKE,'' a pleasant tape-recorded voice intoned. "We are pleased to announce that this fully automated wake-up service is now available nationwide.''

It just goes to show, you can't keep a good caveman ad down. And market researchers of the world take note: if the 540-WAKE ad can last over a decade, attain classic status, and reach a national audience, then there must be others like me out there. A silent stealthy movement of insomnia-suffering, demographically disembodied souls, who don't drive SUV's, plotting to disrupt the very foundation of consumerism through non-action, non-purchasing, non-existence.