Plan A: Every exhibit has a story. Ours just happened to include a surprise guest appearance by the little engine that could. Somewhere between Chicago and Salt Lake City, our exhibit went rogue. It traded freeways for freight lines and turned a simple delivery into a cross-country drama.

It all started innocently enough. Our client, a manufacturer of sleep apnea equipment, invested in a beautiful new 20-by-20-foot exhibit for a medical products trade show in Salt Lake City. The booth was a striking visual representation of the client's brand and product — freshly fabricated, carefully crated, and ready for its debut performance. Like proud parents sending their child off to school for the first time, we waved goodbye as it departed our facility in Upstate New York destined for a brief layover at a logistics hub in Chicago before continuing its journey westward.

The plan was simple: The exhibit would transfer from one trailer to another in Chicago, then make its way to Salt Lake City with plenty of time for setup for the three-day show. We'd done this dance countless times before, and we were confident. As it turns out, possibly overly so.

About a week before the event, the call from our logistics company came like a bolt from the blue. “Remember that exhibit headed to Salt Lake City?” they began, and I knew this wasn't going to be good news. In the freight industry, phone calls that start with “Remember that shipment?” rarely end with “It's here early and we're comping the entire thing.”

Our exhibit, it seemed, had developed a sudden interest in rail travel. Instead of being transferred to its intended trailer in Chicago, it somehow ended up in another trailer that was loaded onto a freight train. While the choo-choo was also bound for Salt Lake City, it operated on a schedule that would make a sloth look speedy. Our exhibit wouldn't arrive until the night of the show's first day — meaning our client wouldn't have a booth for the first day of the show. What's more, the exhibit, which cost a pretty penny, would miss its debut performance. It was like having the star actor show up for the second act of opening night. Plan B: In situations like these, there are generally two approaches: panic wildly or spring into action. We chose the latter (though I will admit to a brief moment of the former). Rather than immediately sharing this transportation tragedy with our client, we decided to solve the problem first and tell the story later — a strategy I like to call “present solutions, not problems.”

Thankfully, we maintain a sort of rescue roster, which is a carefully curated list of reliable providers in various show cities who can help us when things go sideways. And in this case, things hadn't just gone sideways; they'd gone completely off the rails (pun absolutely intended).

We contacted our provider in Salt Lake City, who jumped into action, promising to provide a rental exhibit that would maintain our client's dignity, if not their exact specifications. Meanwhile, we dispatched our graphics files to another partner who could produce new graphics faster than you can say “freight train fiasco.”

Only then did we make the dreaded call to our client. “We have good news and bad news,” we began, using the time-honored tradition of softening the blow. “The bad news is your new exhibit is currently enjoying a scenic rail tour of the American Midwest and won't make an appearance in your booth until day two of the show. The good news is we've arranged for a replacement exhibit that will be ready for opening day.”

To say we were met with disdain from the client is a bit of an understatement. But to their credit, they came around to our solution, and their product managers swiftly adapted their demo plans for the rental booth, proving that necessity truly is the mother of invention.

The show's first day went well, with the rental exhibit performing its understudy duties admirably. Then, as promised, the original exhibit arrived that night, leading to what I can only describe as the most elaborate quick-change act in trade show history. Our team worked through the night, striking the rental and installing the original exhibit. By the show's open on day two, the new booth was in place.

Looking back on what we now affectionately call “The Great Train Adventure,” several valuable insights emerged that have become part of our standard operating procedure. We learned that maintaining relationships with local partners isn't nice to have — it's essential. Those partnerships quite literally saved our caboose, transforming what could have been a complete disaster into an amusing anecdote.

We also discovered that transparency with clients needs to be timed appropriately. Had we immediately called our client when we first learned about the train situation, we would have merely transferred our stress to them. By taking the time to develop a solid Plan B first, we were able to present the problem alongside its solution, which made a world of difference in how the news was received by our client.

Perhaps most importantly, this experience reinforced the value of maintaining a sense of humor in the face of adversity. Stress comes with the territory in our industry, but it's how we handle that stress that defines us. When our client's booth took an impromptu rail journey, we could have thrown up our hands in despair. Instead, we chose to view it as just another challenge to overcome, albeit one with a particularly amusing twist.

In the end, this experience served as a near perfect metaphor for the exhibit industry as a whole. We can plan, prepare, and attempt to control every variable, but sometimes the universe has other ideas.

After all, in an industry where success is measured not just in sales made or leads generated, but in challenges overcome and problems solved, having a solid Plan B is as necessary as Visqueen and duct tape. And if your Plan B happens to involve a midnight exhibit swap-out after your original booth decided to play tourist via rail, well, that's just another day in the life of an exhibit house. E