When your client is a medical-device manufacturer selling a life-saving heart-lung machine, the exhibiting program feels about as serious as it gets. That's why I nearly had a heart attack when I opened our exhibit crate and found a tractor motor rather than high-tech medical equipment.

A few years ago, I was working with a company that had just designed a revolutionary device that would do the job of the heart and lungs so doctors could shut them down for open-heart surgery. The invention was going to change the world of medicine, so we had put a great deal of attention toward showcasing the machine at a large medical show in Orlando, FL.

The demo setup, which took up the better part of a 4-by-3-by-6-foot shipping crate, had been sent to Germany for an event happening not long before ours was scheduled to take place. The shipping timeline was tight, so there was no room for error. But the shipper indicated it would be no problem, and the week before our show, we received a tracking report that the crate was indeed on its way.

Most of the marketing staff from the client company joined me at the convention center in Orlando two days before the show opened to help get the booth ready. We had designed a prominent display front and center in the exhibit for the demo equipment, which would be running throughout the show. By day's end, we had put the finishing touches on the booth, with just a big, empty space where the heart-lung machine would go. It was not scheduled to be delivered until the next day, but with everything else finished, setting up the equipment would take no time at all.

When we met back at the booth the following morning, I knew immediately that something was wrong. There was a crate about the right size sitting in our space as expected, but it didn't look quite like ours. Plus, it said "Ford" on the side, despite the fact that our shipping label was firmly affixed.

I quickly called the shipper, who really didn't have a good explanation for why we had an automotive shipment sitting in our booth. So we opened the crate — partly out of curiosity, and partly because we thought it might contain the identity of its owner. Whoever that was, I was thinking, had probably just opened up a heart-lung machine and was no doubt wondering, like me, what the hell was going on.

In the container was what appeared to be a fully functional tractor motor encased in an acrylic box. Part of the motor's housing had been cut away so you could see the innards of the equipment, and it had a 110-volt power supply dangling from the back. The crate also had a contact phone number for its owner, so I dialed it.

The man who answered was at the North American International Auto Show in Detroit, and yes, he said, he had received a crate containing some kind of medical equipment. But his show had already started, so he had just gone ahead without the wayward motor demo and put our crate off to the side. I knew then that there was no way I'd have that container in my hands in time for the show.

I hung up and looked at the staffers, who were all staring at me expectantly. My first thought was to thank God that it was one of them, not me, who had made the decision to use the demo after the German show. At least the head that would be rolling down the aisle of the exhibit hall wouldn't be mine. My second thought was that I had the opportunity to save the day — except that this meant I also had to come up with a plan.

"Let's just uncrate this sucker and plug it in," I finally said. I mean come on. It was almost a comical play on our heart-lung machine. A few members of the marketing crew blinked, as if they didn't think they had quite heard me right. Then there was an uncomfortable moment of silence as their minds worked through the alternatives. The parody of a tractor motor there pumping away instead of a heart-lung machine couldn't have been more apropos or more ridiculous, but having a little fun with our misfortune could be the thing that saved us. It could also be the thing that got us all fired, but the staffers agreed that it was worth a shot. So we hoisted the motor onto the raised display where our product demo was to have been.

Once plugged in, the motor was quite an impressive piece of equipment. In slow motion, its pistons and valves raised and lowered, and the cutaway from the motor casing let you see it all happening. We stood there and stared at it for a minute, admiring the slightly hypnotizing display and wondering if we were nuts. We would find out the next day.

By the time the show opened the following morning, we had already caused quite a stir among the other exhibitors. But we paced nervously waiting for the flood of doctors to stream through the aisles, hoping they would find humor in our situation.

As luck would have it, the doctors were more lighthearted than we'd given them credit for, because our exhibit with its mesmerizing motor was the hit of the show. Hordes of attendees paused to admire our engine, laughing with us about the mix-up and listening with interest as we told them about the machine the motor was crudely replacing. In fact, it was my client's best show ever, and the corporate brass hailed the marketing team as heroes. They eventually got the heart-lung machine demo back, but the tale about the time they used a tractor motor became almost legendary with exhibitors and attendees alike. As every exhibitor knows, there's no telling what this crazy industry is going to throw at you. But the lesson I learned from this experience is that sometimes laughter really is the best medicine.

— Gene Smith, vice president, Exhibitree Inc., Irvine, CA