Dog Day Afternoon

A few years ago when working as an account executive for an exhibit builder, I figured I had earned my stripes in the trade show industry. After three years in the business I'd had the requisite disasters, survived trial by fire more than once, and hadn't landed on my face or in therapy, or both. But that's just the kind of thinking that will get you into trouble, because the moment you start to breathe easy is the exact moment disaster sneaks in - or in this case bounds in via a cute, white puppy.

It's hard to not let your guard down around little Bug. Back when this fiasco struck, the half Westie, half Maltese tail wagger was my new pride and joy, and all of my closest clients knew about the excitement this recent addition had brought to my life.

One of those clients was coming to my company's warehouse for a preview of a gorgeous 16-by-20-foot custom tensioned-fabric exhibit we had just completed, and she urged me to bring Bug along. She had a baby of her own, the human variety, so in a way we were kindred spirits, she joked. Something somewhere in my head should have told me not to bring a puppy to the preview, but she insisted, and Bug was so smart and sweet, I figured what the heck.

At the preview, my client gave Bug "oohs" and "ahs" and belly scratches, and then she and I turned to business while Bug explored the facility. The warehouse manager and client gave their blessing to him being off the leash, and there was no way for him to get out, so I didn't worry about him roaming while we talked.

Seeing the custom display set up for the first time, the client fell in love with it. The exhibit included a row of kiosks and a theater area, and the main focal point was a dramatic 16-by-20-foot concave, tensioned-fabric wall that served as a ruby-red backdrop for the theater space. It was a beauty that had been two months in the making, and in two days it was being shipped off to its first show.

As the client, the warehouse manager, and I stood marveling, my sweet puppy Bug sauntered through the middle of the booth, gave the arched wall a sniff, and lifted his leg. Time slowed, and I could hear myself shouting, "NO!" while Bug peed on my client's $35,000 display.

So I fainted. OK, not really, but blackness would have been a merciful alternative to standing there looking at my client's mouth hanging open. We were obviously no longer kindred spirits, because her baby hadn't peed on anything of mine, and my eyes were like saucers as my mind whirled through how many levels of bad this was. I was as white as a ghost, and I could hear myself saying something, but I'm sure I was babbling some kind of stupid apology that could in no way mask the fact that the centerpiece of her brand new exhibit now smelled like puppy pee.

Gathering myself together, my first action was to corral Bug, who was more than a little alarmed by the yelling. As I put him on the leash, he stared at me with his cute puppy eyes and gave me a tentative wag. I simply could not be angry at him. This was entirely my fault; I shouldn't have brought him and let him off the leash. I did this to us, and I wanted to go sit in a corner and either cry my eyes out or laugh my butt off - or both - over the absurdity of what just happened.

The client was surprisingly gracious given the situation. She looked at me, as serious as a heart attack, and said, "As long as it's gone before the show, I didn't see anything." Relief quickly washed over me, and I apologized 20 or 30 more times.

But the client's reaction was only half of my fear - the other half involved my boss, who would probably be colossally unhappy if he knew I brought a dog to a preview, much less that it peed on our client's exhibit. I looked at the warehouse manager with pleading eyes. "Let's try to get this fixed before anyone finds out," he said.

We inspected the wall to see how good Bug's aim was. It turns out it was pretty darn good. If this had been virtually any other exhibit material, the mess would have just wiped right off. But, of course, this was knit fabric, and a corner of the wall was soaked through and through.

Not surprisingly, the warehouse manager had never had to clean urine from a tensioned-fabric display before, but he knew enough about the fabric to understand that the whole 16-foot-tall piece had to be cleaned - as opposed to just that corner - or the newly cleaned area would be noticeable.

I bid goodbye to the client, promising her that this would be fixed, while the warehouse manager got busy taking the wall down to pull off the fabric. He worked quickly not only because the liquid was urine and every minute it stayed on the fabric increased the chances that the fabric would discolor and retain the smell, but also because this display was set to be packed up for shipping the following day.

The fabric, though made for indoor use, remained blessedly colorfast, and the jewel-red color had not leeched out when it got wet. That left hope that this piece was not ruined, but how to get it cleaned and back to perfect in less than 24 hours was a question the warehouse manager would have to answer.

For this kind of fabric, he said, dry cleaning was the best solution, and he had connections that could put a rush on the piece and have it back in the warehouse before anyone ever knew it was missing. I was so grateful that I promised to name a child after him, or at the very least, my next puppy. So with little left for me to do, I loaded up my precocious puppy and headed home while the warehouse manager arranged for the dry cleaning.

The following day I confirmed with the warehouse manager that the fabric piece had been cleaned to perfection and was back in place with no one the wiser. After thanking the manager profusely, I called the client to let her know we'd fixed the problem, and then we had a pretty good, albeit slightly uncomfortable, laugh about the whole thing. The situation had been a first for all four of us, Bug included, and hopefully a last.

I've done a lot of previews since that day, and not surprisingly, I leave Bug at home. But what I've realized is that in this business, there is no telling what could happen next, and all you can do is keep out as many external influences - like Bug - as possible, and prepare for the worst while you hope for the best. Crazy things will still happen from time to time; you just have to be ready for anything and hang onto your sense of humor.

- Katie Zanardi, senior account executive, Bay Area Exhibits, Santa Clara, CA