Plan A: There are certain universal truths in the trade show world: The client will want last-minute changes, an electronic will go haywire, and if everything seems to be going perfectly, you're probably in for a surprise. I always expect at least one of these calamities to rear its ugly head when I exhibit. But what I didn't expect at Affiliate Summit West (ASW) was to become an impromptu one-person moving company just hours before the show opened.

I was a trade show manager for an exhibit house, managing booth setup for our client Kount. The firm was exhibiting at ASW with a 10-by-10 booth that featured two 10-foot-long, tube-and-pillowcase backwalls, a registration counter ready to dispense swag like a Las Vegas slot machine, and just enough rental furniture to facilitate demos and some seating without turning our space into a furniture showroom.

This particular show had a unique opening time — 5 p.m. — and our setup was minimal. So I arrived bright and early on the day the show opened and erected the booth in record time. By 11 a.m., I'd not only finished installation but had also performed the sacred trade show ritual of documentation: sending those crucial “All done!” photos to the marketing lead at Kount, who was unable to attend the show.

The empty crates had been whisked away, I'd finalized service orders, and every electrical hookup had been tested. With the sales team scheduled to arrive early that afternoon for their pre-show strategy session, I decided to head back to my hotel room, basking in the glow of yet another job well done.

How naive I was.

Around 1 p.m., my phone buzzed with the kind of call that makes every trade show manager's stomach drop. Apparently, shortly after the sales team arrived, show management interrupted their briefing to demand they pack up and move the entire exhibit to another location.

Whether show management's request was due to a floor-planning mistake, exhibitors not showing up, or some other act of tomfoolery is unclear, as they gave us multiple reasons that didn't add up. But the bottom line was that our salespeople had to move the booth.

The sales team put up a good verbal fight for a few minutes. But not wanting to ruffle feathers and not really knowing what our contract said, they had attempted what I can only describe as a DIY booth relocation worthy of a viral video. Picture, if you will, a group of professionals in business attire trying to maneuver exhibit pieces across the show floor like they were rearranging furniture in a college dorm room. No dollies, no proper equipment — just pure determination and what I imagine was a healthy dose of, “What else can we do?”

After the marketing lead relayed this tale of woe, I headed for the convention center to see how bad things were — and to determine what I could do about it. Plan B: By the time I power-walked back to the convention center (breaking what I'm sure was a personal best for a 20-minute hike), I discovered that what they promised was an upgrade was actually a downgrade. Our lovely booth properties that fit perfectly into a 10-by-10 corner booth had been crammed into a space that actually measured only 8.5 feet wide, forcing the sales team to position the 10-foot walls at an angle just to stuff them into the space.

To add insult to injury, there was an electrical box smack in the middle of the floor, complete with wires taped down in festive yellow and black stripes. It looked less like a premium booth space and more like a safety hazard. This wouldn't do, and I needed a solution, like, yesterday.

I realized that there must be other empty booth spaces on the floor. So I wrangled a member of show management for a booth space real estate tour that would have made HGTV proud. We evaluated three potential open locations, each with its own unique “charm.” Thankfully, the third option I presented seemed to be a winner, as it had proper dimensions, good sight lines, and bonus adjacent space for meetings.

Next, I called the marketing lead, explained the options, and solidified our selection. I then negotiated the swap with show management and convinced them to let us use that space, seeing as they'd kicked us out of our original and didn't technically provide the contracted 100 square feet. Thankfully, they accepted my terms.

But here is where the real fun began. Remember that iconic scene in “Friends” where they're trying to get a couch up the stairs while Ross keeps yelling, “PIVOT!”? That was basically me, except instead of a couch, I was wrestling with the back walls, a registration counter full of swag, a surprisingly heavy table, and bar stools determined to roll the wrong way at every opportunity. Imagine a grown woman trying to maintain dignity while doing what appeared like a strange dance across the show floor, lifting one end of a wall at a time to shimmy it over loose AV cables.

Eventually, I got 'er done. But the final hour before the show opened was a blur of adjustments, testing, and silent prayers to the trade show gods. Show management, perhaps feeling a twinge of guilt about the whole situation, agreed to blast out emails about our new location. Though I suspect some attendees still ended up on an unexpected tour of the show floor looking for us.

In the end, what could have been a disaster turned into an unexpected win. The adjacent space we'd gained became prime real estate for extended meetings. And while we may have lost a visitor or two in the great booth migration of 2025, we gained something far more valuable: a reminder that in the trade show world, the ability to “PIVOT!” is worth its weight in gold.

Looking back, I learned several valuable lessons from this experience: Never celebrate a smooth setup until the show is actually open and even then, be ready to act. Always wear comfortable shoes because you never know when you'll need to power-walk across town and then across a convention center. And most importantly, no matter how perfectly you plan, sometimes you end up playing a last-minute game of booth musical chairs. E