You Don't Know What You Don't Know

As a fairly diligent practitioner of physical fitness, I learned a long time ago there’s a wide chasm between being “cardiovascular” fit and “trade show” fit. They are about as mutually exclusive as two quasi-related concepts can be.

Working the floor of a conference/trade show, or “booth duty” as it’s known in conventioneer’s parlance, requires long hours on your feet, knowing who it’s important to talk to (as well as knowing who isn’t) and the ability to engage in reams of repetitive pitches and explanations that must carry a veneer of first-time freshness whether it’s delivered while sipping your first cup of coffee at 8 am or following a third round of after-dinner drinks at 11 pm.

All of which leaves me often feeling like the aftermath of an ultra-marathon, much like this week’s American Institute of CPAs’ Practitioners Symposium and TECH+ Conference and the 2012 Association for Accounting Marketing Summit did, which drew some 1,600 show-goers (including us) to Las Vegas.

But exhaustion notwithstanding, working a massive event does allow you to gain acute insights and perspectives of the attendees, especially in the manner in which they approach your exhibit booth. There are ones that simply feign interest in your products and services to collect the  tchotchkes de jour (our cell-phone holders by the way were among the premium collectibles this year) to others  that remain in denial about what they truly need no matter how hard you try to convince them otherwise.

Case in point: A gentleman who appeared to be in his mid-60s stopped by for a brief chat where, in about 45 seconds, I learned that his firm’s other partners were all long ago eligible for AARP membership and that they had exactly no one behind them in the bullpen.

Since helping firms with ownership and transition issues is sort of all we do, I explained to him that unfortunately because of his partners’ ages and his absence of bench strength, he will be forced to make a dire decision in a few years of either entering into a rushed merger (where he will lose untold leverage in terms of value) or engaging in the proverbial soaping of the windows and turning off the lights.

He thanked me for my concern, helped himself to a cellphone holder and ventured on. Sadly, over the course of two days, I heard similar tales of transition needs and about an equal number of “we’ll eventually get to it,” or outright denials.  So, beyond giving them brochures, business cards and a follow-up phone call or email,  it’s more or less incumbent upon them to make a decision to go forward – or not.

My guess is that many of the proactive attendees had long ago taken inventory of their firms and plotted a course of action toward continuity. And the ones that haven’t or are procrastinating to the point where their situation may well be beyond repair, well, at least their cellphones will have a nifty place to go to.