Patrick Combs - Stories

I expected a great speaking experience, but barely made it out alive.

There are more ups and downs in my business as a speaker than in an inchworm's walk.

For instance, last week I arrived at a campus in the afternoon, anxious to do my evening lecture. The topic, as usual, was my book, Major in Success. But this stop was particularly exciting because of my new sponsorship by Visa USA (and this was the first day a representative from Visa was flying in to attend). Because of the sponsorship, I'd been able to offer my lecture services for free to the career center, and I was bringing 300 copies of my book to give away to all those who attended my talk (Normally I bring books, but I have to sell them for $12). Being able to offer the school and students so much for free was a dream come true for me (four years in the making). I stepped into the Student Union, just plain excited.

I was also anxious to read the college newspapers article about my program that was supposed to run that day. I quickly found the day's paper and poured through it looking for the story, but it was nowhere to be found. The interviewer had promised me it would be there to help promotion, but it was not. I felt let down. "Oh well," I thought and I proceeded on anxiously on to meet my hosts in the career center.

The student behind the career center desk told me that both of my hosts were gone for the afternoon and wouldn't be returning. No hosts - this had never happened to me before. I was stunned and didn't know what to think, especially since I'd promised them the event would heavily promote their career center. I rolled with the punches and asked to see the room I'd be speaking in. The student behind the desk, who's name was Jim, said "Let me find out." In a few minutes, he was escorting me to the room. At once, I noticed that none of my requested equipment was there, despite the fact that my lecture began in about an hour. Jim offered to take me to media services.

At media services, a young woman named Suraya reviewed a list of equipment that she'd been told I needed. I was shocked when she said, "LCD panel." LCD panels aren't anywhere near as bright as computer projectors, so I try to avoid them.

I asked her, "Do you have a computer projector?"

"Yes," she replied. "But I can't let you use it because it wasn't requested ahead of time."

"Actually, I DID request it ahead of time. But apparently, for one reason or another, the career center didn't make the request with you." I said.

"I understand," Suraya said, "But I can't loan it to you because we don't loan it out without a technician to set it up, and we don't have a technician on duty."

On the inside I felt desperate. I so badly wanted cooperation, and I was still feeling slightly wounded that my hosts weren't even around for our campus event. I implored Suraya to make an exception, explaining to her that I worked with computer projectors four days a week and would have no problem setting it up. She held her ground on the policy, and said no. I thought to change my approach, and took a minute to explain to her the goals of my program.

"My talk teaches students to make the most out of college and reach their dream job - and big, bold visuals really boost the amount students take away from the program. Would you let me use the projector, for the sake of helping students follow their dreams?" I pleaded.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't." Suraya replied.

So I resorted to good 'ol fashioned begging. "Please call your tekkies and see if one of them is willing to come set up the projector. Tell them I'll pay them $40." Suraya stuck to policy and said, "Next time you come, request it in advance and it will be no problem."

I went back to set up my equipment and arrange the room. This involves testing my microphone, adjusting the room lights, connecting my portable computer to the computer projector (which today would be an LCD panel), hooking up the VCR, video projector and audio cassette player, blowing up my four beach balls (trademark props), and putting the free books onto the chairs. Set up normally takes an hour and a half, and now I had only 30 minutes, so I felt hurried.

Then I noticed that the 300 books that had been shipped to the career center in advance weren't in the room yet. Panic! I dashed over to the career center and asked Jim if he could locate them and bring them to the room. He graciously offered to do so. I dashed back.

Suraya and an assistant were in the room hooking up the VCR and video projector. A problem of some sort was delaying their progress. I went about my business until Jim arrived with the eight big boxes of books. It was a relief to see them, but there was now only 15 minutes to get them onto the chairs. Usually my hosts help with this, so I asked Jim to assist me. I said, "Jim, thanks for getting the books. Will you help me put them on the chairs?" "No." he replied. I didn't believe my ears and quickly studied Jim's face. He wasn't joking. He spoke, "I'll help you if you have other equipment needs, but I'm not going to put books onto the chairs. I have other things I've got to do." I felt abandoned and bewildered. I apologized to Jim for asking too much, and began putting the books on the chairs myself. Jim left.

Then Suraya said, "Your video projector is set up for you." Instantly I wondered if her words were actually an indication that I would have to run the projector myself (normally someone runs the equipment). I asked and she confirmed my fear. "Yes, you have to run it yourself. We weren't told you'd need someone during your talk." I wanted to scream. I did scream, "Aaaaauuuuuurrrgggg! What's happening here?!"

I'd never before lost my cool like this in the five years of my speaking career. I felt ashamed and out of control. I recomposed myself by focusing on the task of putting the books on the chairs. Then, when all the books were set out, I remembered something else that seemed amiss. No one had mentioned who would introduce me. I dashed back over to the career center and found Jim.

"Jim, will anyone from the career center be attending my presentation?" I asked warily.

Jim replied sheepishly, "Uuummm... I don't think so, but let me ask around."

Jim got up and asked four or five staff members who were milling around, engaged in various tasks. I could see the answer for myself, but Jim reported back. "I'm sorry to say it, but no." His words impacted me like a blast from a stun gun. I don't remember getting out of the career center, but I probably backed out.

Still stunned and reeling with a panicky, isolated feeling, I re-entered the room where my event was taking place. It was five minutes until showtime, and only one person was in the room - the representative from Visa. It was already clear to me that the career center hadn't promoted the event. For the first time in my speaking career, I needed someone's support. I needed someone to tell me it would turn out OK. I needed someone to confirm that it wasn't supposed to be like this. I needed someone to say something that would, in some small way, calm my internal panic. For the first time in 150 speaking engagements, the challenges that pop up at every speech had "gotten to me," and reduced me to chaos. And in five minutes I was scheduled to do a motivational talk.

I emotionally staggered to a payphone and dialed for my girlfriend, Deanna. I prayed that she would be home. She was. She said the right things. I especially found strength in her words, "Patrick, you've got to remember that this treatment has NOTHING to do with your abilities." I needed to hear that. I'd begun to feel like something was wrong with me. I hung up the phone, knelt down on one knee and asked for strength to be my best, no matter how few people we're in the room. Then I got up and started heading into the room, internally promising that I would leave my self-pity outside by the pay phone.

There were four people in the room.

I said hi, and began my talk. I did my own introduction. I broke the ice with the woman from Visa, with a confident smile and wink during my first story - trying to signal her that I was alright. And when it came time to show my visuals, I kept traversing back and forth between the front of the room and the back to dim and brighten the room lights. I don't think I've ever looked so amateurish, but I completed the talk.

After my presentation, the woman from Visa compassionately asked me if I was OK. I told her I was, which was true, but I couldn't hide my embarrassment. She helped pick the books up off the 300 chairs and put them back into their boxes. When that task was complete, I was alone in the room packing up my computer. Suraya came strolling in, and asked in a carefree voice, "How was your event?" Her question stung. I replied with the truth - and I probably shouldn't have - I told her it was the worst experience of my speaking career. She said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you'll come back next year and have a better experience." I had to laugh and laughing melted away my hard feelings.

I had one more difficult task to go before I could put the day behind me. I had to load the boxes of books (eight boxes in all), along with suitcase and bag, into the cab. If all the books aren't given away, it's my job to ship them back to the warehouse. I'd never been left with so many books.

Two hours later, back at my hotel, I finished addressing all the boxes and filling out the UPS airbills. My hotel kindly took over the job from there, promising me they'd ship them in the morning. I was escorted to my room by an unusually kind bellhop named Lance. It was quickly apparent that Lance had a touch of mental retardation, but with all his heart he aimed to please. After giving me a thorough briefing of all the amenities in my room, he asked, "Have you eaten yet?" I hadn't, so Lance flipped open the room service menu and suggested many favorites. "You better call now," he said, "Because the kitchen closes in five minutes." I was smiling on the inside over how far Lance made me feel from the college and the events that had occurred only hours before. "Thanks Lance, I'll call them right away."

Lance left. I picked up the phone and dialed for room service, but no one answered. There was a knock on the door. I knew it was Lance, but I didn't know what he wanted. I opened the door. "What do you want for dinner, Mr. Combs? I'll go to the kitchen and get it for you myself." he said with a goofy grin. Lance was singlehandly restoring my faith in human beings. Lance must have been an angel. Because of him, I ate that night and called it a strange day indeed.

But like I said, there are more ups and downs in my business as a speaker than in an inchworm's walk. The next morning, I awoke at 6 AM and caught a flight to my next speaking engagement at Utah State University in Logan. The woman from Visa would be there also.

The woman from Visa greeted me that afternoon with the words, "How are you feeling today? Are you OK?" My answer came from the heart. "Every day is a completely different day. Today I woke up feeling great." And how right I was about it being a completely different day. My host from the career center, Dave, greeted me with a strong handshake and a large smile. I saw posters for my event hanging everywhere. I heard the story of how Dave and an associate had spent three hours the day before putting flyers on cars. Dave volunteered for the task of putting all the books onto the auditorium chairs. Steve introduced himself as the man who would run all my equipment, including the computer projector. Despite the fact that it was pouring rain, and despite the fact that the school had accidentally scheduled my talk to compete head to head with a much publicized talk by former Clinton aide, George Stephanopolous, when show time arrived there were over 200 people in the auditorium. It was a truly fantastic experience.

And the ups and downs continued. The next day, a great gig at Spokane Falls Community College. The day after that, a virtual repeat of the nightmarish college experience, only this time it didn't get to me. And the day following, an awesome experience at Lehigh University. Up and down. Up and down.... I must be in the great game of life, because I'm riding the inchworm's back.