June 9, 2006
 
COMMENTARY: A Fun Weekend at the Book Expo
 
By Steve Brewer
Scripps Howard News Service
 
I knew I'd had enough when I turned a corner and nearly smacked kissers with Curious George.
 
I almost jumped out of my skin, but Curious George seemed undisturbed by the encounter, a wide smile tight around his big head. His handler steered him away through a throng of bleary conventioneers.
 
Nervously, I glanced around the teeming hall. If Curious George was 7 feet tall, imagine how big the Man in the Yellow Hat must be.
 
Yipes. Time for some fresh air, some sunshine, a few minutes away from the elbowing crowd. Out on the city streets, where I might get hit by a bus or mobbed by banished smokers, but at least I needn't worry about getting mown down by a guy dressed as a monkey.
 
Just another close encounter at Book Expo America, a giant trade show that I and 25,000 other people attended from May 18 to 21 in Washington. Thousands of booths overflowed three mammoth halls in a bizarre bazaar, organized for the purpose of pushing books and related merchandise to booksellers and wholesalers and anyone else who finagled a badge.
 
In the wild competition for attention, companies resorted to furry mascots (I saw several man-sized dogs, a raccoon and a dragon, not to mention the Pillsbury Doughboy), celebrities (I spotted actors Robert Duvall and Alan Thicke and the back of Bob Newhart's head), product demonstrations, posters and pamphlets, spotlights and stage sets, gimmicks and giveaways. Anything that might, possibly, encourage passers-by to remember a brand or a particular product.
 
Most industries have such giant trade shows, and they're all pretty much the same. Participants mill around like zombies all day, sensory overload everywhere they look. Noise and slow crowds and sore feet. Suspicious odors and pitches from fast-talking salesmen, which are sort of the same thing. The occasional friendly exchange of business cards that might actually result in something if you didn't forget later and use the card as a coaster.
 
At night, the bleating herds emerge from the trade show and swarm nearby bars and restaurants and parties, staying up late and having a grand old time so they'll feel even worse the next day, out on that concrete sales floor.
 
(One difference I noted: A definite dearth of bathing beauties at the book fair. Go to an auto show, and they've got real live girls doing bikini demonstrations. We got Curious George.)
 
Does any business get accomplished at these trade shows? Do customers actually latch onto particular products or logos or ideas and remember them later, after seeing, oh, 17 kajillion similar logos and products over the course of the weekend? Isn't a single product like a grain of sand on a vast, littered beach? How do corporate types (or salesmen or middlemen or authors, for that matter) cope with all that competition? And who is buying all this stuff once it does reach the consumers?
 
I don't know. I kept having to go outside and look at the empty sky. Shake off my caffeine-enhanced claustrophobia and take some deep breaths and buck up. I didn't fly across the country to hide my light under a bushel. I had a product to move, and it wasn't going to sell itself.
 
Each of these episodes ended with me forcing myself to hike back to my publisher's booth on aching feet. There, I'd stand around and smile and yak, ready to spring into action if anyone showed the slightest interest in my grain of sand.
 
It made for a long weekend, but I learned a few valuable things about marketing. Next year, I'm wearing a giant monkey costume.
 
Or a bikini.
 
Redding, Calif., author Steve Brewer's latest book is called "Bank Job." Contact him at ABQBrewer@aol.com.