Border Battles

After first working for and now owning a custom exhibit house, I know that unexpected situations happen. But if you have a good Plan B, you can survive just about any crisis. Sometimes, however, coming out OK requires having a Plan C or D or (gulp) E, too. And every so often, you run out of letters in the alphabet, and all that saves your bacon at the end of the day is your ability to remain calm (and pure, unadulterated luck).

An adventure south of the border a few years ago proved just such a situation. I had a bad feeling when my client, Bently Systems Inc., wanted to send a custom exhibit 1,800 miles from Huntsville, AL, to Mexico City. In the past, it had rented or used build-and-burn exhibits in Mexico, and I strongly encouraged company reps to consider doing so again.

But the display they wanted to ship was a new 50-by-50-foot custom-built beauty, and the show, Architectural Engineering Civil Systems - Mexico, was where all their biggest competitors assembled. Bently execs insisted they needed this exhibit there, so I made transportation arrangements, and constructed a foolproof Plan B in case anything went wrong.

Five days prior to the show, I was on the ground in Mexico City and primed for the show. The shipper had assured me that my client's truck would be at the venue when I arrived, but it was not. I wasn't overly concerned, however, as I didn't have labor lined up to start building until the next morning, so I went back to the hotel and rested up.

The next day, there was still no truck, and the shipper admitted it was temporarily "held up" at the border. In the back of my mind, my Plan B was to go to Monta G, my company's exhibit partner in Mexico, and rent everything we needed for the show. But when I approached Bently's on-site reps about it, they said "No." They wanted their exhibit, and they were willing to wait for it.

The next day, a mere three days before the show, the truck still hadn't shown up, and I could feel panic creeping in. The truck had not cleared the border, but every time I called, the shipper told me it would be released "any minute." The Bently folks insisted on waiting, and I felt like a gambler who had gone all-in at a poker table. The inventory at Monta G was undoubtedly being picked over, and if the truck didn't make it, we'd risk being left with mismatched leftovers instead of a stylish, custom-built display. I pretty much knew that in three days I was either going to be a hero or unemployed, and it was starting to make me twitch.

But rule No. 1 in the trade show industry is to remain calm. So with nowhere to go and nothing to do except wait, I scrounged up a little chair and sat in the center of my giant, empty booth space all day long. It was the premium location in the exhibit hall, and it was the first thing attendees would see when they came in the door. And as I sat there, I was keenly aware of two things: My client's competitors around me were smirking, and every single person who walked by was glad they weren't me.

The next morning, I was preparing to pull the trigger on a reasonably nice display from Monta G when I got word that the truck had been released, and would be at the venue first thing the following day. I could hear a choir somewhere singing the Hallelujah Chorus, but we weren't out of the woods yet. I needed every laborer I could get if I intended to have that display built in less than 24 hours.

At sunrise the next morning, one day before the show, I was standing on a 50-by-50-foot slab of concrete with a dozen workers - waiting. But by midday, there was still no truck. For the first time, my clients had panic in their eyes, too. I wanted to say something reassuring, but we were screwed. Monta G had been virtually cleaned out by that late hour, and the best it could offer was a Frankenstein booth comprising sad-looking, unwanted odds and ends. There wasn't even one piece of carpet large enough for our exhibit space, and I was left wondering how I could piece together different colors of carpet and make it look like it was supposed to be that way.

It's hard to say how many calls I made that day trying to find the missing truck, but I refused to believe it had just vanished. All the shipping company could tell me was that it hadn't heard from the driver, but he should have arrived already. Out of desperation, I asked some of my local laborers if they had any ideas. A couple of workers offered to scour the city, checking other venues and truck stops for our truck. I knew their chances of finding the errant driver were remote, but I had nothing to lose.

To this day I don't know how they did it, but by late afternoon the workers returned to the venue with good news and bad news. The good news was they had found the truck. The bad news was the Mexican police had it. It was going to cost me, they said, and my knees buckled a little as all the blood drained out of my head. In the car on the way to where the Mexican police were holding the vehicle, I knew, whatever I had to do, I was coming back with that truck.

Officers were vague about why the truck had been stopped and what the fine was for, but I didn't care. "What's it going to take?" I asked them, pulling out my wallet. In my head I was quickly adding up how much cash I had, and how much more I could get access to through a credit card.

It turned out that all the money in my wallet was exactly how much the fine was. Lucky coincidence, I guess. I'm also lucky that all I had was about $100 U.S. in local currency, instead of a fat wad of travel cash. In any case, it was enough to free the truck and get us a police escort to the loading dock.

By the time the truck arrived at the convention center, it was 7 p.m. - about 14 hours before the show opened. With all hands on deck, we worked frantically through the night, and were just wiping down the completed structure at 8:30 a.m. when the Bently reps sauntered in. They were happy to see their beloved booth in place, but they were nonchalant, as if they never really doubted that it would be there. I, on the other hand, felt like I had just dodged a career-sized bullet, and I needed a nap.

I've worked with this client many times since, and have even gone back to trade shows in Mexico, but now I only hand-carry exhibit materials or work with local suppliers. And I still always have a Plan B in the hopper, though now it usually includes small bills in local currency.

- Dean Dexter, owner, Gizmo Joe, Cheyenne, WY