Trade Show Doppelganger
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
It’s September 2006. It’s hot, business is hopping and I’ve gotta get to McCormick Place to deliver graphics and visit what we’ll call a “spicy” client. I look cute today, which makes me feel chipper…crisp, white, button-down shirt, chic black pants and high-heeled boots. I’m going to impress this client with my vast industry knowledge and top-notch customer service. I anticipate her spending a million dollars at the next trade show. It’s gonna be a good day.
I pack my car with large boxes full of fabric graphics, paperwork and a steaming cup of coffee from 7-Eleven. An exhausting, two-hour drive from Catalyst Exhibits later, I’m swirling around the basement of Lakeside Center’s parking garage(instead of the North Hall, because traffic made me nervous so I pulled into the first Public Parking slot I could find). I’m not panicked because though it’s only my second time at this venue, I have plenty of time to navigate to the hall. I unload my boxes of graphics onto a hand truck (thanks creepy garage guy!), haul the drayage, electrical and Internet forms over my shoulder and make my way toward an exit. I soon find myself at the base of an escalator, leading to the Lakeside Center. Climbing aboard – cuteness intact – I realize that the boxes of graphics are slowly slipping from my arms and off the dolly. I try to reposition myself but the boxes are coated in Vaseline and cascade down the escalator. Hey, at least no one saw me (I think, as a bead of moisture forms above my brow) but as the thought forms, about 100 doctors pour out of a conference down the corridor. They all watch as I fumble around like a blind juggler, trying to salvage the boxes. I get to the top (humiliated, by the way, because my shirt got caught in the railing, so I look indecent), call the Account Exec for I&D and beg him to pick me up. I don’t know where I am in relation to the booth space, so it takes him 40 minutes to find me. When he does, I flop myself on the back of his cart and, sweating profusely now, drag the mangled boxes of graphics all the way to the North Hall.
I get there, survey the area and am confident that – despite this morning’s inconveniences – the rest of the day will be swell. The booth looks lovely and the client’s no where to be found (in this case…that’s kind of a good thing). Out of nowhere, like a vulture to the carcass, the client barrels into me, screaming Spanish about missing graphics. “I have them,” I say. She storms off. Crisis averted. Sulking toward me, though, is the foreman…with eyes like someone killed his puppy. This man, who embodies lumber-jack masculinity in all it’s glory, is crying. Is he really crying? Bottom lip quivering, he mutters, “I can’t take this anymore.”
Spicy McSpicerson has gotten to him.
It was all down hill from the point. Mass chaos. The client screams until her nose bleeds, the foreman sobs, I’m so drenched in sweat that my hair looks like Benicio Del Toro’s, the booth “¡Es nada en absolute lo que ha supuesto ser!” and my boss (and HIS boss) are on the phone with a Spanish CFO about our pending lawsuit.
These are trade shows in their rarest form. These are doppelgangers, of sorts…a parellel universe. Though I love the industry and – more importantly – Catalyst, I am exhausted. I wonder if Starbucks is hiring…