The follow-up that wouldn’t stop
Everyone in sales knew the golden rule: Follow up or lose the lead. Elliot Faulkner took this seriously. He had built his entire career on being relentless. If you gave him a business card in 2018, you would still get emails. So, when he left the International Marketing & Growth Expo with a stack of 317 leads, he cracked his knuckles and got to work. His email was flawless. Subject: Great Meeting You at IMGE! 🚀 Hi [First Name], It was awesome connecting at the expo! Let’s schedule a quick call to explore how we can help your team achieve real growth. Let me know what works! Looking forward to chatting. He hit send. Then, the real work began. The first follow-up A week passed. Nothing. Elliot sent a follow-up. Hey [First Name], just bubbling this to the top of your inbox. Would love to chat! ⏳ Nothing. Two days later: Hi [First Name], just checking in again! Let me know when would be a good time. 📅 Nothing. He wasn’t worried yet. Persistence was key. The twelfth follow-up A month passed. Elliot was in deep. He had sent twelve emails, each one growing slightly more desperate. Subject: Too busy to talk? 😕 Hey [First Name], haven’t heard back—hope everything’s okay! Let me know if you’ve been abducted by aliens. Otherwise, let’s connect! Nothing. Subject: Are you mad at me? 🥺 Just checking in! If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. We can fix this. Nothing. Then, one night at 2:43 AM, he received a reply. It was one sentence. “Please stop emailing me.” Elliot froze. Not because of the rejection. But because there was no sender name. No email address. No reply button. Just… the message. The Email That Shouldn’t Exist He checked his CRM. The lead didn’t exist. There was no record of them. He searched his inbox for past emails with this lead. Nothing. It was as if the contact had been erased from reality. But that was impossible. Elliot did what any sales professional would do. He followed up. Subject: Hey, I think your last email glitched? Let’s reconnect! BEEP. Instant reply. “Please stop emailing me.” He swallowed. His hands felt cold. He replied again. Sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy—just making sure you’re getting my messages? 😅 BEEP. “PLEASE STOP EMAILING ME.” Elliot’s heart pounded. He slammed his laptop shut. And then his phone buzzed. A notification. “NEW EMAIL FROM UNKNOWN CONTACT.” He opened it. “PLEASE STOP EMAILING ME.” His office lights flickered. His table quaked. His coffee mug shattered. His mouse cursor moved on its own, highlighting his entire inbox. Delete emails? YES / NO Elliot tried to click NO. His screen glitched. The entire inbox emptied. And then, in the silence, one final email arrived. It was from himself. “Follow-up complete.” No one ever heard from Elliot again. But sometimes… late at night… if you’ve ignored too many sales emails… Your inbox might flicker. And you’ll see a message. From UNKNOWN CONTACT. And it will say… “Just checking in!”
The follow-up fiasco – How I lost a deal in 48 hours
Day 1: The win I had them. I knew I had them. The kind of conversation that makes you feel invincible—laughs, nods, the magic words: We need this. Let’s talk next week. The energy? Off the charts. The handshake? Firm. The opportunity? As good as closed. I left that booth walking on air, already crafting the perfect follow-up email in my head. But hey, no need to rush, right? They were practically begging to work with us. This was a done deal. Day 2: The delay So, I let it sit. I had a backlog to deal with—notes to organize, meetings to recap, and, let’s be honest, a serious need for sleep. I’ll send it first thing tomorrow, I told myself. Because what’s one day? Day 3: The silence Email sent. Subject line: Great Meeting at [Event Name]! Let’s Talk Next Steps. Short, friendly, confident. Then, I waited. And waited. And waited. Checked spam. Refreshed the inbox. I opened and closed my laptop three times in a superstitious ritual. Nothing. I followed up. Again. Still nothing. Day 4: The gut punch Fine. Time for the big guns. I dialed their number, ready to seal the deal over the phone. They picked up, and for a brief second, I felt relief—until they said: “Oh hey, sorry, we already signed with another provider.” Excuse me. What? Day 5: The reality check Twenty-four hours. That’s all it took. One. Single. Day. Someone else got to them first, and I was done. I stared at my screen, replaying the conversation in my head. I had waited too long. I’d been so sure, so cocky, that I forgot the one rule that actually mattered: If you’re not first, you’re forgotten. The redemption: The 24-hour rule Lesson learned. From now on, my follow-up isn’t tomorrow. It’s now. Before they leave the booth. Before they even have a chance to think about the competition. A quick email. A tailored microsite. Something—anything—to keep me top of mind. And guess what? My deals? They close. Lesson learned It’s not just about the follow-up. It’s about being first.
Dear Dan
Dear Dan, I saw the signs. The lack of response. The unread email. The silence. I told myself you were just busy. That you’d get back to me. That we’d pick up where we left off—demos, calls, maybe even a deal. But I see now that you’ve moved on. Maybe to another vendor. Maybe to a spreadsheet. And you know what? That’s okay. I just need closure, Dan. If you’ve found a solution that makes you happy, I’ll step aside (gracefully… mostly). But if there’s even the slightest chance, you’re still thinking of me, of us, let’s talk. No pressure. No hard feelings. Just two professionals trying to make things work. Always wishing you the best, Taylor
The grand reveal
Adele had spent years believing she understood events. She had built strategies, fine-tuned processes, tracked numbers that painted a picture of success. But now, standing at the edge of the expo hall, facing Cassian Vale once again, she felt something unravel. She could feel it—the shifting of something deep inside her, a realization waiting to take shape, but not quite formed. Cassian watched her, silent, as if waiting for her to say it first. Adele exhaled slowly, glancing down at her tablet. The screen was still filled with names, leads collected over two days—names she once would have celebrated, proof of a job well done. But now? Now, they felt like ghosts. A list of people who had passed through, smiled politely, taken a brochure, and vanished. She looked up at Cassian, eyes sharp, searching. “Tell me,” she said. “What am I missing?” Cassian’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but something close. Approval, perhaps. Or maybe just acknowledgment that she was asking the right question. “The truth,” he said, voice calm, measured, “is that most people will leave this event thinking they’ve won. They’ll see a list of five hundred, maybe a thousand names, and they’ll walk into their next meeting convinced they’ve done their job. But the real metric of success isn’t how many names you collect.” His eyes locked onto hers. “It’s how many conversations you continue.” Adele felt her stomach tighten. She had known it, deep down. Had felt it when she’d stopped Nathan Carter earlier that day, when she had asked him why he had come to their booth instead of simply assuming his interest meant commitment. “How many conversations,” she echoed, mulling over the words. “Not leads. Not badges scanned. Conversations.” Cassian nodded. “That’s where the alchemy begins.” She ran a hand through her hair, mind racing. “But that’s not how events work. I mean, at least… not how they’ve worked until now. The entire industry is built on numbers. Leads gathered, pipeline filled, automated follow-ups—” “And that,” Cassian said smoothly, “is why so many of those pipelines run dry.” Adele hesitated, staring at him, and suddenly, she saw it. She saw the expo floor for what it really was—not a battlefield of competitors fighting for attention, not a game of who could scan the most badges or book the most meetings, but something simpler, more human. It was a collection of moments. Of choices. A hundred micro-decisions made in an instant—who to approach, what to engage with, what to ignore. And if those moments weren’t captured, nurtured, and given meaning, then all the scanners in the world wouldn’t change the outcome. Because people didn’t convert because they were added to a list. They converted because they were engaged. Breaking the pattern Adele turned the tablet in her hands, fingers tightening around it. The weight of everything she had ever done at events pressed against her. She had spent years tracking volume, not value. Had built strategies around first touchpoints, never realizing the real magic was in the second, third, […]
Ep06. The competitor sabotage scandal
Some competitors play fair. Others? Not so much. Alex Carter was exhausted but victorious. The team had salvaged lost leads, endured impossible client demands, and pulled off last-minute miracles. Now, with just a few hours left in the trade show, all they had to do was coast to the finish line. Then Sam Lee stormed into the booth, eyes blazing. “You’re not gonna believe this,” they said, waving their tablet. “NexGen stole our pitch deck.” Alex blinked. “What?” “They’re using our slides in their presentations—right now.” 11:00 am – The discovery Morgan Taylor, the no-nonsense CMO, yanked the tablet from Sam’s hands and stared at the screen. Sure enough, footage from a competitor’s booth showed their lead sales rep presenting slides identical to the ones Alex’s team had spent weeks perfecting. Jordan Blake, the smooth-talking sales rep, leaned in. “That’s not just similar—that’s word for word.” “How?” Alex demanded. Sam’s face was tight with frustration. “They must’ve gotten access to one of our demo stations and pulled the files.” Morgan cursed. “They didn’t just steal our content—they’re selling it as their own.” Jordan cracked his knuckles. “Game on.” 11:30 am – The counterattack begins Intel gathering – Sam discreetly recorded NexGen’s pitch, confirming the theft. Data trail – Alex pulled up activity logs from their demo devices. A foreign USB had been plugged in yesterday afternoon. Distraction tactics – Jordan sauntered over to NexGen’s booth, striking up fake friendly conversation to stall their team while Alex formulated a plan. Morgan, tapping furiously on their phone, grinned. “They want to play dirty? Let’s see how they like the spotlight.” 12:00 pm – The public exposé Alex took the stage at their booth, microphone in hand. “Hey everyone, we’ve got something game-changing to show you.” The audience gathered. Even NexGen’s team stopped to watch. With a knowing smile, Alex projected their original slides onto the big screen—only this time, they had added a new slide: ‘STOLEN BY COMPETITORS: WHY INNOVATION CAN’T BE COPIED.’ Gasps rippled through the crowd. Morgan stepped in smoothly. “Great ideas get stolen. Great companies stay ahead. We’ve just launched a new feature—one that NexGen won’t have.” The audience leaned in. 12:30 pm – NexGen’s meltdown At first, NexGen’s team tried to play it cool. Their lead rep, an overly confident exec in an expensive suit, smirked and whispered to his colleagues. But then the murmurs in the crowd turned into pointed stares. People started pulling out their phones, snapping photos of Alex’s screen, whispering to each other about the blatant plagiarism. One attendee turned to the NexGen rep. “Did you seriously just copy their deck?” The rep’s smirk faltered. “We, uh—” Before he could formulate an excuse, Sam, ever the data-driven genius, uploaded proof of the stolen files to LinkedIn—with timestamps, screenshots, and a scathing caption: Innovation isn’t about theft. Stay original. Then came the final blow. Morgan, in their signature deadly calm, turned to the audience. “We believe in […]
The event tech that changed everything
Day 1: The skeptic’s creed I don’t buy into the hype. Never have. Never will. I’ve been in this game too long to fall for another so-called game-changer that turns out to be nothing but bells and whistles, a shiny piece of software designed by people who’ve never actually had to stand in a trade show booth for twelve hours straight, juggling conversations, business cards, and the growing sense that you’re about to lose your voice. AI-driven? Revolutionary? Right. I’ve seen it all before, and you know what? Most of it just makes my job harder. Just give me a scanner, a spreadsheet, and a strong cup of coffee, and I’ll do my job the way I’ve always done it—because at least I know that works. But then—they made me try something new. Against my will, I should add. Day 3: The resistance begins The platform was sleek. Too sleek. The kind of thing a sales rep with zero event experience would dream up in a conference room with a whiteboard and too many buzzwords. “It automates follow-ups, scores leads in real-time, syncs with your CRM,” they promised, eyes gleaming like they’d just discovered fire. “It’ll change the way you work.” I rolled my eyes. I’d heard it all before. Another tool, another headache. Another pointless distraction from just getting the job done. Did they even realize how much was already on my plate? Now, I had to learn something new? Fantastic. I braced for disappointment. Day 5: The breaking point The event was chaos. The kind that leaves you gasping for breath, drowning in conversations, scanning badges like a maniac while trying to keep one ear on the guy asking about pricing and the other on your teammate signaling for help. No time to think. No time to track who was worth a follow-up and who was just there for free swag. My system? Completely breaking down. Too many leads. Too little time. And then, I saw it out of the corner of my eye—real-time data. A dashboard, updating in front of me, showing me who engaged, what they asked about, who actually cared. I hesitated. Then, I clicked. An automatic, personalized follow-up went out instantly. Day 7: The moment of truth The responses started pouring in—fast, faster than ever. People weren’t just opening emails—they were engaging, booking meetings, following up, and actually remembering who we were. I sat there, staring at the screen, feeling my entire belief system crack down the middle. Could it really be this easy? Had I been making this more complicated than it needed to be… for years? Was all that manual tracking, note-taking, and spreadsheet-wrangling just some kind of sadistic ritual I’d inflicted […]
Ep05. The lost leads catastrophe
You can capture a lead. But can you keep it? Alex Carter was on a high. After barely surviving Cynthia Masters’ impossible demands, the team had pulled off a miracle. The event was winding down, and they had a stack of promising leads—the kind that could mean the difference between an okay quarter and a record-breaking one. And then, just as Alex was about to grab a celebratory drink— “Where are the leads?” Sam Lee, their data-driven field marketer, stood frozen in front of the event tablet, eyes wide. Morgan Taylor, the CMO, frowned. “What do you mean, ‘where are the leads?’” Sam exhaled sharply, clicking through screens. “I mean… they’re gone.” 5:30 PM – The scramble begins The team descended into chaos. Jordan Blake, their ever-smooth sales rep, paced in circles. “Okay, okay—maybe there’s a glitch?” Sam shook their head. “I don’t think so. The system isn’t syncing. The entire batch of today’s leads—wiped.” Alex felt their pulse skyrocket. “You mean the 500+ scanned contacts…?” Sam nodded grimly. A collective silence fell over the group. And then— “Okay,” Morgan said, voice eerily calm. “We have exactly one hour before exhibitors start packing up. Fix it.” 5:45 PM – The first wave of fixes Reboot everything – Sam restarted the lead capture app, praying it was a temporary issue. Check backups – Alex logged into the cloud storage. Nothing. Customer support chaos – Jordan was on the phone with tech support, his charm evaporating. “I don’t want a ticket number—I want my leads back!” Morgan scrolled LinkedIn, trying to manually recall names. It was like assembling a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Then, a horrifying realization struck Alex. “What about the paper business cards?” Sam’s eyes widened. “You mean the ones we left at the booth?” The ones right next to the trash bin? 6:00 PM – The dumpster dive Alex, Sam, and Jordan sprinted back to the booth. The once-busy expo floor was now a graveyard of discarded banners and half-eaten sandwiches. Their booth was already being dismantled. And there, next to the trash bin, was a crumpled stack of business cards. Alex dived, barely stopping a janitor from sweeping them away. “We need these!” The janitor raised an eyebrow. “Y’all good?” “Not even remotely,” Jordan muttered. Alex, refusing to let the leads slip away, got on their hands and knees, frantically picking through the mess. Some cards were bent, others had coffee stains, but most were salvageable. Sam took a deep breath and joined the effort, mumbling, “This is the lowest point of my career.” Jordan, standing over them, smirked. “You haven’t hit rock bottom until you’ve pulled a contract out of a tuna sandwich.” Then, miraculously— “Wait! […]
The alchemy in motion
The expo floor had changed. Or maybe Adele had. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but as she walked through the sea of booths, the polished displays and carefully rehearsed pitches felt… thinner, somehow. As if she were seeing past the bright banners and confident smiles, glimpsing something beneath the surface—the patterns, the invisible threads that connected every interaction. It was like stepping behind the curtain of a stage play and realizing the world she thought was real was just a carefully constructed illusion. The words Cassian Vale had left her with wouldn’t let go. “You’re tracking the wrong thing.” “The lead itself isn’t gold. The interaction is.” She gripped her tablet, scrolling through the day’s captured leads. 217 names. A long list of people who had stopped by the Nexora booth, scanned a badge, watched a product demo. But now, the list didn’t feel like proof of success. It felt like a question she didn’t know how to answer. And Cassian? He had vanished into the crowd like smoke. Adele exhaled, pushing forward. She still had a job to do. The numbers and the noise Sienna met her at the booth, eyes flicking to the tablet in Adele’s hands. “Please tell me things are turning around,” she murmured. Adele hesitated. “We’ve captured over two hundred leads.” Sienna raised a brow. “And?” Adele hesitated again. “And… I don’t know what any of them actually mean.” Sienna frowned. “Okay, cryptic. Are you alright?” She wasn’t sure how to answer that. Because something was shifting. Before today, Adele would have been satisfied with the numbers. She would have stood in front of Nexora’s executives, pointing to a chart proving they had gathered X% more leads than the last event, arguing that the data showed success. But now? She couldn’t unsee the cracks in the system. Sienna nudged her gently. “Earth to Adele?” Adele shook her head, snapping out of it. “Sorry. It’s just… have you ever wondered how many of these leads actually go anywhere?” Sienna blinked. “That’s a question for sales, isn’t it?” Adele wasn’t so sure anymore. The first experiment The next lead came in five minutes later. A man in a gray suit stopped at the booth, his badge identifying him as Nathan Carter, Director of Procurement, Stratacore Systems. A potential client, maybe even a big one. Adele watched as he moved like clockwork—the same scripted motions she had seen a hundred times before. Pause at the booth. Look at the product display. Nod at the sales rep’s introduction. Hand over his badge to be scanned. Transaction complete. Nathan Carter walked away. Adele’s fingers hovered over her tablet. Before, she wouldn’t have thought twice. He would be added to […]
Dear Emily
Dear Emily, I wish I could say I don’t know what happened. That I followed up like I promised. That my CRM was working in perfect harmony with my intentions. That I wasn’t drowning in a sea of business cards, post-event exhaustion, and an inbox full of “Just circling back…” emails. But here we are. Somewhere between the expo floor and my messy lead spreadsheet, you slipped through the cracks. Maybe it was a misplaced note. Maybe it was my overconfidence in “Oh, I’ll remember to follow up.” Maybe it was the chaotic whirlwind of post-event catch-up. Either way, I failed you, Emily. And for that, I’m truly sorry. You deserved better. You deserved a well-timed, hyper-personalized, impressively relevant follow-up email that made you say, “Wow, this person really gets me.” Instead, you got… silence. But if, by some miracle, you’re still out there, still curious, still willing to give me another shot—I swear, I’ve changed. My follow-ups are automated now. My lead management is on point. My past mistakes haunt me, and I refuse to make them again. Please, I can fix this. Just give me one more chance. Trying to be better, Mark