Pushing a Watermelon Through a Hole the Size of a Kumquat, or, Event Planning for Beginners

I was recently explaining the work that I do to a new aquaintance. As an event manager, I have several smaller events that I plan for my organization each year, but the real focus of my job is our annual conference. I called it a "labor of love", explaining that about nine months of my year were devoted to this four day conference featuring keynotes, workshops, vendor halls, and evening banquets. "Wow." said the aquaintance. "It sounds kind of like having a baby every year. That's gotta be rough." He then wandered off in the direction of the dip and a girl with a low-cut top while I was left pondering the truthfulness of the statement.


He's right, there are many ways in which planning a conference is almost exactly like giving birth.

WHOA! Back, mothers of actual children! For the purpose of this post, let us remember a few things:

1. This is meant to be a humorous and should be taken lightly and not as an insult to the crazy beauty of motherhood.


2. This post is obviously written by one who has never actually had a child and thus has no sense of reverence for the process or the effect upon ones nether-regions.


3. My child-bearing years are nowhere near behind me, and yes, I will probably get mine.

Now that the maternal figures have been appeased, I will proceed with my documentation of conference planning with absolutely no more references to ladies' nether-regions (except for that one). Remember to breathe deeply, drink lots of water, and don't be surprised if you get any weird cravings before the end of this post.

What To Expect When You Are Expecting 800 People


It will take 9-10 months of your life.
As was previously mentioned, this is the biggest project of my year. Following each annual conference is what I like to call a short "breathing period" wherein I get to unpack, process paperwork, and regenerate by going back to working 8-5 days again. This lasts from late April until about mid-June. Then, much like an actual baby, planning inevitably begins because whether or not you are ready for it, this thing is coming and you dang sure have enough receptacles to hold poo when it does.

You will experience significant weight gain.
There is something to be said for the effect of sitting at a desk for 12 hours in a row, consuming nothing but caffeinated sodas and New Seasons' peanut butter bars. Comparisons between my gluts and a slow moving bed of lava would not be without merit at this point. Suffice it to say that after this last conference, I have begun a very well thought-out detox plan involving abstinence from fine sugars, busting my ass on the elliptical every day, a colonic heretofore thought impossible outside of the movie "The Descent", and giving the finger to every gypsy woman that I see so that I can stop looking like Laurie-in-a-Blanket.

Recurring dreams about the actual event itself going horribly, horribly wrong.

They start small and as the months go by, they get progressively bigger. In the weeks leading up to conference, it is extremely common for me to have all of my dreams taking place in a hotel- and before you go there, no, they are not the "fun" type of dreams about hotels that feature sexy friends in adventurous couture with creative demands. These dreams are of me running from room to room swimming through seas of projector cords and door signs while all around me vendors are asking if they can get a copy of the agenda book and then offering to cut off my ears when I say no. I recently tried to request my hours of unconsciousness as time worked from my employer, but he just shook his head at me and handed me the number of a sleep clinic.

Swollen Ankles

I am pretty much on my feet from the beginning of the calendar year until the actual end of the event- equating to approximately four months. This causes that friend-of-Gozer, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, to look at me and go "Damn girl. Those are some CANKS!" To which I invariably respond that I am not naming names, but not everyone can carry off a sailor suit.

For a short time, I am the most popular person around, and frequent comments about my condition are extremely commonplace.

In the 2-3 weeks prior to the conference, I hear frequent comments about how I am doing from people in my office. Much like the baby bump of a 8.75 month preggo woman, I wear my condition externally through bloodshot, hooded eyes; Gary Busey hair; and increasingly intense attempts to knock down the dress code fence dividing non-profit organizational fashions from pajamas.

Extreme bitchiness in the weeks leading up to the actual event.

As I get closer to conference, my sense of humor becomes practically obsolete and I cannot be bothered even the ironic joy of working with anyone classified as "an idiot". This includes but is not exclusive to: hotel staff, screenprinters, people that ask for scholarships that include airfare with less than two weeks before the conference, people that e-mail me about their fax arriving before they actually send the fax, administrative assistants of attendees that treat me like "the help", and anyone attempting to solicit my AV business by sending me conditional coupons to Best Buy.

I pack my bags for the event, but on the way there, I keep thinking, "I am just not ready for this!"

I will realize that there is some way I could have made something easier on myself in this process. Creating better spreadsheets. Sending just one more e-mail to presenters to remind them to bring their own projector. Packing a toothbrush. Like it or not though, the time has come, so all I can do is sit back and watch the edited version of "Black Swan" and try not to choke on the overwhelming perfume of the Snook-alike sitting next to me.

Actual event entails LOTS of sweating, ridiculously long hours of labor, and the potential of pooping on myself.

The conference takes place in a hotel which is spread out over hundreds of thousands of square feet. At any given time, I need to be in at least three places, all of them on opposite ends of the building from one other. Wearing the wrong shoes is a rookie move as is clothing that reveals when sweat is present because SWEAT IS ALWAYS PRESENT. The conference is also where I challenge my personal record for how long I can go without going to the bathroom because there is no way that I can selfishly afford myself 2 minutes to evacuate. Currently, I am up to 17 hours and counting. (P.S. That is not a joke.)

During the event, people keep asking, "How are you doing? Is there anything I can get you? How can I help?" when all you are really thinking is "GET OUT OF MY WAY OR I WILL DE-NUT YOU!"

It's like being at a party. If you want to help, look for something that needs doing and then do it. Do not ask the person who is shedding hair like a sheepdog from all the stress that she is currently experiencing to think about ways for you to be useful. She's already got a lot on her plate- don't make her assist you with pulling your head out of your ass.

Actual performance of the event with even a moderate level of success is met with more praise than may actually be warranted.
Here's the thing- all babies are considered "beautiful" even though they ALL look like Winston Churchill and Yoda got freaky. Conversely, all conferences that do not result in fire, death, or dismemberment of non-staff individuals are considered a major success. My opinion is this: sure it was a lot of work, but really, when it's over, everyone goes home with one more tote bag to add to their growing collection of beach picnic accessories. It's not THAT much different from what has been done by anyone else in this field which keeps me both humble and able to read negative conference evaluations without wanting to slam people's heads in car doors.


As soon as it is over, people start asking about the next one.
And so it goes . . .


In closing, I will say this. Even though we are on our way out of the recession, jobs are still scarce, and jobs where you actually get to love what you do even more so. Many of my peers for whom the world was promised as long as they "followed their dreams" are now using their music performance degree to sing "Ave Maria" to people that are scarfing baked ziti at the Macaroni Grill. Masochistic as it sounds, I love my job as a stay-at-work mom and would not trade it for the world.


The idea of having an actual kid though, scares the shit out of me.