Trade Show Blues
You start the day with a burst of energy and a flash of enthusiasm - must be that second double espresso working its magic. But it’s downhill all the way after that, and you know what you’re in for, even before it starts. Down the stairs to the basement – no daylight – maybe you’re supposed to lose track of time. Like being in Las Vegas, except there’s no money on the table and no avenue of clicking, flashing slot-machines; just the shell-scheme booth, with your name on the top panel, a dusty, straggly plant in a tub, a bar table (no drinks) and a couple of rock-hard stools. Oh yeah, and a pile of brochures, neatly fanned out across the table, to stop you slouching. Deep gloom....
Yep, it’s trade-show duty, come around again, far too soon. Boy, did I draw the short-straw this time. Both days, on my own, hour after hour of smiley-handy-shaky please-like-me eagerness, trying to look enthusiastic as one person after another wanders by, not wanting to meet my gaze, not interested in stopping. Well I don’t want to talk to you either, mate, but at least it would use up a few minutes of this endless day. Yesterday was a killer, and today will be worse, for sure. First look at the watch – 10 past 9. Only another 7 hours and 50 minutes to go.
He’s there again, just over the aisle. Mr Happy. It’s not even 9.30 and he’s already chatting animatedly with a couple of guys in suits. He even looks like he’s enjoying himself – lots of back-slapping and laughter. Then somebody else shows up and - I can’t believe it – they brought him a coffee! I can’t step off my booth for a moment in case the boss swings by, so I spend the day parched and starving, and Mr Happy has visitors, no less, bringing him coffee! How did that happen?
I know my smile is getting fixed and I’m probably looking a bit like a mad-axe-murderer, but that’s no reason not to stop and say hello, is it? Friends, I need your business cards, if only to prove that I’ve been here all day! Even if you’re not interested. Oh go on, please....
Mr Happy is collecting bucket-loads of cards. He’s not even offering an incentive – no prize-draw, no little mints in a tin box, nothing. Yet every passer-by stops and says hello, and drops their card into his box. More often than not, he’s juggling two or three people at once, and those that don’t know each other are being introduced around. They’re making connections, picking up those rather smart little mini-brochures (wish we’d thought of that, then I’d have some space to lean my elbows on the table) and generally setting up to do business – you just know it. Me, jealous? Whatever gave you that idea?!
Time drags, hour after hour, and all I can see is Mr Happy, busy as you like, really working the show, whilst I’m shifting from one sore, aching foot to the other and willing the day to end. He’s had the occasional quiet patch, I admit, but just a few odd minutes, here and there. He doesn’t waste them though, jumping on the phone to catch his messages or tapping quick replies into his Blackberry.
We’re creeping towards 4 o’clock now and things are getting quieter for everybody, even Mr Happy. I think he’s even managed to answer all his messages and emails, as he’s perched on his bar-stool, looking into the middle-distance for the first time today. Then he catches my eye, gets up and wanders over, all beaming smiles and a warm handshake. I’m crazed with boredom, jealous of his oh-so-positive approach, but I can’t help but admire – he’s found yet another way to make the time move on by.
We chat, and for the first time today, I’m actually engaged and interested, not just pretending. I could see from his booth that he’s in customs clearance. Well, Customs Clearance Ltd, is a does-what-it-says-on-the-tin kinda name, isn’t it? I’d even read his pop-ups once or twice, whilst I was passing the time. To be honest, I’d read them so often I could probably recite them back to him with my eyes closed. So I knew what he did. Still, we chatted, and it turned out there was a bit more to the customs clearance game than I’d assumed. I’d started off wondering why on earth a business would want to pay good money to get somebody else to handle their customs clearance – it’s just paper-pushing, isn’t it?? But by the time Mr Happy went back to his booth to pull down his pop-ups, I had a much better idea of why. I’d even picked up a couple of those clever little mini-brochures for my boss – well, I’m pretty sure he’ll want to save money and get those tricky US consignments moving faster into Europe, never mind offloading admin to people who know what to put on the forms, not waiting around for hours at the airport, getting paid faster by the clients... the list of reasons went on. He might even want to thank me.... by letting me off the next trade show duty.
26th June 2009
