Open letter to all members of every interior design association,

It occurred to me recently that some of you may benefit from a variant perspective on the trade-show experience, so I thought I would share my experience as an event sponsor and exhibitor at a recent exposition.

Dallas, T minus 72 hours:
I spent most of Tuesday and all of Wednesday preparing and packing with trips to the pharmacy for mini toothpaste, the printer for forms, and the cleaners for shirts, then turned in and slept like a zebra in lion country with sketchy visions of missed flights and forgotten cell phone chargers dancing (like a mosh-pit) in my head.

I somehow managed to drag my haggard butt out of bed at 3:30am Thursday, raced to the airport, hastily consumed an overpriced airport breakfast, wedged into my seat like an out of shape contortionist, then hurtled through the air for 2 hours in an aluminum germ-tube which,  judging from the ashtrays and chipped paint, must have been manufactured in the early to mid seventies.  

While counting freckles on the bald snoring head 12 inches from my face, I endured a relentless, persistent, and silent yet deadly nostril assault from the sweet little lactose intolerant old lady next to me who evidently was up all night eating broccoli and yogurt.

After landing in Dallas and retrieving my bag, I was forced to listen to my cabbie on his cell phone engage in what can only be described as an argument with a fellow Martian for the entire white-knuckled 25 minute ride to the expo center. At this point, I thought of a certain Steve Martin/John Candy movie and privately enjoyed a little chuckle.

After paying the pissed Martian, I hustled to my super duper premium upgraded space on the show floor, set up my exhibit,  and was doing all the typical nervous pre-show tweaking with strategically placed mints and pens, perfectly stacked contact forms and brochures, and business cards in the shirt pocket. Then I hit the restroom to run some final checks. What’s left of my hair was perfect, no peppers in the teeth, performed the breathe/sniff breathe/sniff into the cupped hand check, no TP stuck to the shoes, the belt buckle perfectly centered, and fortunately my nasal hairs were burned off by the old lady on the plane, which saved some plucking time. I was officially ready to rock and roll.

The first hour came and went without a single attendee in sight. I started thinking; “no big deal, late must still be in fashion,” and “well, they need to come by to get their card marked so they can win the money.”

Hours two and three produced a couple of random visitors that left me hopeful and thinking…. “I’ll bet Paris Hilton is B.F.F.’s with her fathers top designer and they are about to sashay over here, look at my drapery rods, and fall head over stiletto’s. Then I bet she’ll say “that’s hot!” and pout till daddy makes them standard in every room.” and “Maybe this town is just thriving and all the designers are too busy to care about finding new sources,” and “Was that designer really into my drapery rods or am I just another John with a nice sharpie?”

I spent hours four and five feeling like a desperate “carny” at an empty carnival in post-apocalyptic Detroit. There I stood, sucking in the soccer-dad belly and popping mints like candy with a big hopeful permagrin on my face, waiting for those golden business cards.  My mind started going again…  “Oh snap! Do I have a booger in my whiskers?” and “Maybe if I had puppy-dog eyes…, and ”Jesus, is there a cowboy hat sale somewhere today?” and “I wonder where I can find a Wilson volleyball to paint a face on.”

It was at the start of hour six when I realized that most of the random people milling around had black stripes on their badges!  Noooooooooooooooooooooo! (on knees, looking up, with hands outstretched to the heavens) It can’t be!…..It was…..The halls were filled with fellow emaciated and starving exhibitors who had resorted to….wait for it….trade-show cannibalism!  Utter desperation and hunger had driven them out from behind their tables and into the halls to feed on their own! I can still hear their gurgling plea, “Sales, must…..have……..sales…”  My mind was racing…. “Boy, for some reason those nine dollar cocktails are not looking so expensive now,” and “I love a challenge, but nine hundred dollars per lead?” and “At least I am not being farted on in a metal tube….”

At 5:45 I knocked down my exhibit and headed straight for the bar where I ordered a stiff drink and dinner with extra garlic and extra onions.  Very soon my psyche was sedate, and I started to write.  Hey, I got a decent blog post out of the experience, right?  It’s all good….

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I may have sensationalized some or possibly all of this, and I sincerely hope you all take it in the light-hearted spirit intended, but believe it or not, this is a fairly typical breakdown of an exhibitor experience.  Exhibitors spend thousands of dollars, endure travel misadventures, and sacrifice time with their families just to meet you.  Please do not get me wrong…usually it is totally worth it.  Believe me, I have exhibited all over the country a hundred times and absolutely loved about ninety nine of them!
My message is valid though, and deserves to be heard; please consider the efforts of the industry suppliers who support your associations, and attend expositions as frequently as you can.  WE NEED YOU!