Confessions of a serial lead collector
Day 1: The hunt begins They called me a machine. A relentless force. A badge-scanning, card-grabbing predator lurking in the shadows of every trade show booth, waiting for my next victim. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to collect. And collect, I did. Five hundred names. Five hundred fresh, unsuspecting leads. I felt invincible. Unstoppable. Day 2: The high fades The thrill of the hunt was over. I stared at my collection—a bloated, unfiltered spreadsheet dripping with the remnants of yesterday’s conquest. Who were these people? Did they care about our product? Did I even talk to half of them? The realization slithered in like cold steel: I had no idea. Day 3: The bodies pile up Sales: “Which ones are hot?” Me: “…All of them.” Sales: “That’s not how this works.” Me: silence I had done the unthinkable—I had amassed leads without purpose. My spree had no precision, no strategy. Just chaos. I had turned an event into a bloodbath of meaningless data. Day 5: The reckoning They started disappearing. Leads I was so sure were ‘interested’ were ghosting us. Phones rang with no answers. My inbox sat cold and empty. I had collected names, not opportunities. And now? The consequences were hunting me. The redemption arc: Precision over carnage Never again. The next event? Every lead will have intent. Every capture will have meaning. No more blind badge scans. No more wasted energy. Only targeted engagement, real-time scoring, and ruthless efficiency. Now, my conversions are surgical. My sales team is thriving. My past self is a cautionary tale whispered among marketers. The Lesson It’s not about how many you capture. It’s about who you keep. My name is [redacted], and I am a recovering Serial Lead Collector. But the urge… never really goes away.
The badge scanner incident
The badge scanner incident Mitch had scanned a lot of badges in his life. Trade shows, expos, conferences—he had seen it all. Most attendees didn’t even make eye contact. They just held out their lanyards like exhausted sacrifices, waiting for the little BEEP that sealed their fate as a lead. It was all so routine. Until today. Until her. The woman with no name She approached the booth just like everyone else. Blazer. Business casual. Tired but polite smile. “Hi,” Mitch said, forcing enthusiasm. “Want to see a quick demo?” She didn’t answer. Just held out her badge. Mitch scanned it. BEEP. A name flashed on his tablet. [ERROR: UNKNOWN ATTENDEE] He frowned. “Uh, weird. Let me try again.” BEEP. [ERROR: UNKNOWN ATTENDEE] He looked up. The woman was still smiling. Unblinking. His stomach twisted. “What company are you with?” Still, no answer. And then… she turned and walked away. The database check Mitch wasn’t paid enough to care about this stuff. But something about her bothered him. During lunch, he pulled up the event’s attendee list. 6,742 names. He searched: “Unknown Attendee.” Nothing. He searched again, using the badge ID. Nothing. No record. No registration. She didn’t exist. The others By day two, he started noticing more of them. People who never spoke. Who just held out their badges, scanned, and walked away. And every time—ERROR: UNKNOWN ATTENDEE. By day three, it was happening constantly. Mitch whispered to a fellow exhibitor, “Hey, have you seen the people who don’t exist?” The guy paled. Nodded. “We call them the ghost leads. They show up at every conference. No records. No emails. Just scans.” “Why?” “No one knows.” The final day Mitch couldn’t let it go. He waited by the exit, watching. And there they were. A dozen of them. Silent. Smiling. Leaving. Mitch did something stupid. He followed. They walked out of the convention center. Across the street. Into a parking garage. Mitch crept behind a column, heart pounding. He peeked around. And froze. Because they weren’t walking to cars. They were just… standing. Lined up in perfect rows. Then, all at once, they turned their heads toward him. Like they had been waiting. Mitch Ran. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look back. He just ran. Quit his job. Moved to another state. Never worked at a trade show again. And for years, he tried to forget. Until last week. When his phone buzzed. An email. Subject line: Thank You for Visiting Our Booth! From: UNKNOWN ATTENDEE. Mitch deleted it immediately. But his phone beeped again. New Email: [ERROR: UNKNOWN ATTENDEE] And again. And again. And again. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Somewhere, at another trade show… a rep scans a […]
Ep02. Booth wars
Trade shows are friendly—until they’re not. Alex Carter had barely recovered from the check-in disaster when a new problem emerged. The event floor was alive with chatter, and booths gleamed under the overhead lights. But something was off. Their neighboring competitor, NexGen Solutions, had tripled their footprint overnight—an imposing structure of LED screens, live demos, and an espresso bar handing out free lattes. Jordan Blake, the overconfident sales rep, scowled as he sipped his basic conference coffee. “Well, that’s just obnoxious.” “They’re stealing all the foot traffic,” Sam Lee muttered, analyzing the heat map of attendee engagement on their event app. The data confirmed it—attendees were being sucked into the NexGen vortex, barely sparing a glance at their booth. Morgan Taylor, the high-pressure CMO, stormed over. “We can’t afford to lose leads to a coffee gimmick.” Alex rubbed their temples. Game on. 9:30 AM – The counterattack begins Jordan cracked his knuckles. “Alright, we’re not going down without a fight.” The team huddled, brainstorming ways to pull traffic back to their booth. They didn’t have NexGen’s massive budget, but they had something better—creativity and real-time adaptability. Hijacking the buzz – Sam started circulating through the crowd, dropping lines like, “You’ve seen the flash, now see the function. Real solutions, booth 318.” The power move – Alex discreetly had their own team grab lattes from NexGen—then casually invited attendees to bring their drinks over for a product demo while they sipped. Exclusive access – Morgan whipped up a “secret” invite for VIP strategy sessions at their booth. A little exclusivity went a long way. Gamification on-the-fly – Jordan ran a flash giveaway—scan your badge, enter to win. No need for lattes when people love free stuff. 11:00 AM – The unexpected turn At first, the battle was neck-and-neck. Attendees flowed between booths, curiosity pulling them away from NexGen’s spectacle and toward the lean, engagement-driven experience Alex’s team had created. Then, NexGen made a fatal error. Their espresso machine broke down. The crowd at their booth stalled. People looked around, bored and waiting. That’s when Jordan struck. “Looks like the caffeine’s run dry! If you’re ready for something that actually boosts performance, follow me.” The foot traffic surged. Attendees flooded their booth, eager to see what the underdogs had to offer. 2:00 PM – The victory lap By mid-afternoon, Alex’s team had not only recovered lost ground, but they had tripled their lead captures compared to the previous event. NexGen, meanwhile, was scrambling to fix their machine while their booth staff looked exhausted. Morgan grinned. “Well played.” Alex exhaled for the first time all day. “Booth wars aren’t won with money. They’re won with strategy.” The takeaway: how to outsmart bigger competitors […]
Ep01. Disaster at check-in
7 AM. No booth. No power. No backup plan. Alex Carter had planned for everything. Months of logistics, checklists, and contingency plans led to this moment—the morning of the biggest trade show of the year. But as Alex stepped onto the exhibition floor, coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other, the blood drained from their face. Their booth—was missing. Not half-built. Not misplaced. Completely gone. The floor where their stunning, fully-branded space was supposed to be, was empty, save for a lone shipping crate marked with someone else’s company logo. The cavernous venue hummed with early-morning chaos—forklifts whirring, vendors shouting, banners being hoisted into place. But none of it mattered. Because in less than an hour, attendees would flood the doors, and Alex had nothing to show them. 7:15 AM – The fire drill begins “Where’s our booth?” Alex barked into their phone, speed-walking across the expo hall. “I—uh—hold on,” the vendor stammered. A rustling of papers, a muffled curse, the faint clatter of a keyboard. Silence stretched. Then, the words no event manager ever wants to hear: “Looks like your shipment got rerouted… to another state.” Alex stopped mid-stride. “WHAT?” Another voice chimed in. Jordan, the sales rep, had arrived, looking far too refreshed for this level of disaster. “Okay, not ideal. But let’s brainstorm. Do we have anything to work with?” Alex scanned the space. Their carpet hadn’t been laid. The power wasn’t connected. There were no screens, no banners, no demo stations. Just a dead zone in a sea of polished, branded spaces from competitors already setting up. A deep breath. Crisis mode activated. 7:30 AM – The improvisation begins Alex called in every favor. The show organizers sent over a basic table and chairs—boring, but functional. Jordan worked his charm with a neighboring booth and borrowed an extra monitor. Sam, the data-driven field marketer, sprinted to a local print shop to get emergency signage printed on foam boards. Then came the real-time pivot—they turned their personal devices into demo screens, using mobile hotspots for connectivity. No sleek booth? Fine. They’d turn their disaster into an experience—a live demonstration of adapting under pressure. And then, inspiration struck. “Forget the polished pitch,” Jordan said. “Let’s lean into this. Let’s turn our booth into the ‘no-frills survival zone.’” Sam grinned. “What if we frame this as ‘How to run a booth when everything falls apart’?” Alex hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.” Jordan grabbed a marker and scrawled “Welcome to The Bootstrapped Booth – The Ultimate Live Demo” on a blank foam board. Sam adjusted the team’s pitch: instead of just talking about efficiency and problem-solving, they would show it in real time. They leaned […]
Dear James
Dear James, It’s been 30 days since we met at the CES, but it feels like an eternity. I remember our brief interaction—the badge scan, the quick exchange of smiles, and the promise of follow-up. Yet, somehow, amidst the chaos… I let you slip through my fingers. You were perfect. A promising lead with so much potential. I dreamed the things we could do together, the insights we’d share, and the triumphs we’d celebrate. But I failed you… My tools weren’t enough. My spreadsheets were messy, my follow-up late. And now, you’re gone. We could have been more than just a fleeting interaction. Please know, it wasn’t you. It was me. Forever regretful, Mary K
The trade show that almost broke me
Day 1: The setup It started with a dream. A sleek, eye-catching booth, a flood of eager attendees, a mountain of leads—the kind of trade show that would have my boss throwing high-fives and buying celebratory drinks. This was the moment to prove that all those planning hours, all those late-night brainstorming sessions, all those tedious logistics—everything—was worth it. Reality? A 5 a.m. flight that left me running on fumes before the event had even begun. A missing shipment of booth materials had me frantically making calls in the middle of a bustling expo hall. And to top it all off, a coffee spilled down my only blazer—because, of course. By the time the expo floor had opened, I was held together by caffeine, sheer willpower, and a desperate hope that none of this would show on my face. Day 2: The madness The booth was packed, and our demos were a hit. People stopped, asked questions, and engaged. My team and I were firing on all cylinders, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and making mental notes of potential leads. It was happening—this was the kind of turnout that event marketers dream about. But then, somewhere between the rush of excitement and the blur of faces, a creeping thought began to take hold. How are we keeping track of all these people? The lead capture process? It was a complete mess. Business cards piling up in a fishbowl like a bizarre lottery of lost opportunities. My team scribbled names and half-legible email addresses onto whatever scraps of paper they could find. And the worst part? Attendees nodded enthusiastically, promising to follow up—promises I knew from experience would never materialize. I forced myself to push the worry aside. We’ll sort it out later, I told myself. There was no time to fix it now. But even as I repeated those words in my head, I knew. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Day 3: The aftermath Back at the office, I sat at my desk, staring at a bag full of business cards. I emptied them onto the table and watched as they scattered, a chaotic pile of potential slipping through my fingers. Some cards were smudged, some had no context, and others were blank on the back. And that fantastic lead—the one who had practically begged for a follow-up? I had no idea which card was his. My boss walked in, expectant. “So, how did we do?” I blinked, trying to stall. “Uh… great?” His brow furrowed. “Okay… how many leads converted to sales meetings?” Silence. Cold sweat. I looked down at the cards again. I had nothing. The revelation: never again That was the moment I swore: Never again […]
