Years ago, event management was one of my many responsibilities as the vice president of marketing at a large New York-based international bank. Being meticulously organized served me well in my overall marketing duties, but I learned that when managing exhibits, even the best-laid plans develop unexpected kinks – and require unconventional fixes.

It was two hours before the opening of the Association for Financial Professionals (AFP) show, the bank's largest trade show of the year, and our team had just finished putting the final touches on the booth. The head of the department stopped by for a tour, and while she was impressed with the graphics, layout, and overall design, she was dismayed that there was no conversation area. It didn't matter that this was never a part of our original plan. What the boss wants, the boss gets. And what she wanted were a few "comfy" chairs and a table or two. I nodded and smiled politely.

As soon as she walked away, my mind started racing. Normally, adding a few pieces of furniture to the exhibit would not have been a problem. But we were mere hours from the show opening. And it was Sunday, which further complicated matters.

I contacted show management to see if it could wrangle up some chairs and tables at the last minute. No luck. I asked the on-site furniture rental company for help, but it had nothing available on such short notice.
Having exhausted my on-site options, I walked back to my hotel room to change into a suit and get ready for the show – even if it meant no conversation area. I kicked off my shoes and plopped into a chair to take a breath and search my mental furniture rental file for ideas. Then it hit me. The solution was right in front of me – or, rather, under me. I leapt out of the chair and called a bellhop. When he arrived at my door, I explained what I needed to do and why. Amazingly, he agreed to help. Together, we loaded two chairs, a cocktail table, and a side table from the sitting area in my room onto his cart. I followed him into the elevator, through the lobby, and out of the building – all while pushing the cart piled high with hotel furniture. No one said a single word as we wheeled by. My benevolent bellhop continued rolling my newly acquired furniture all the way to the convention center a block away, and I didn't stop thanking him the entire time. He even helped me arrange the furniture in the booth before pushing his cart back to the hotel and resuming his duties. In the end, the trade show was a huge success. The hotel room furniture even matched the style of the booth better than anything I could have rented, and the department head loved the conversation area. As luck would have it, following the show, I was able to get another hotel bellhop to bring the furniture back to my room. No one was any wiser about my sleight of hand – not hotel management, not the show attendees who sat in the chairs, and not my boss. Needless to say, I tipped both bellhops quite generously.