So, the “Craft Show” in Christian Hell was this weekend. What a freaking farce. Let me start from the beginning. They wanted us there to set up at 3 on Friday, which everyone showed up to do. Now, keep in mind that most tradeshow booths are 10×10. This show did tell us that the areas were smaller, but what they didn’t tell us is that there was zero room between booths, so each 6×8 spot butted right up against the others. Like laying dominoes. Ok, fine, our fault for not realizing that our booth setups weren’t really going to fit.
So, we get all set up, I’m going to go with some other crafters to go grab some dinner before the “preshow sale”, and they tell us that we can’t leave…they want us to go to a “come to jesus meeting”. Those of us that didn’t want to go to the jesus meeting needed to stay in the show room. (WTF? Ok, see…at that point, I should have packed up my shit and left. I know that now.)
Fine, I stayed in the show room, and we waited for the mythical promised customers. None of whom ever showed up. None. Zero. Nada. Not a single customer crossed the door into the show area. When a bunch of us were ready to call it a night at 9, the promoters got all kinds of ugly. (Again, second clue that I should have packed up and left right then.) Apparently, they wanted us there to cheer the announcement that some doctor was marrying this little teenage girl. Seriously. That’s the only thing that happened. A wedding announcement to a room full of strangers that were supposed to applaud the child bride. (Yuck!)
Then they announced that that they wanted us there at 7:30 the next morning. Even though the first seminar wasn’t until 9:30. Now, I live an hour from the show. Which meant that I was going to get less than 5 hours of sleep in order to meet this insane demand. (Again…clue…big freaking clue…)
So, I get up at 5:30, having not eaten since noon the day before, take a shower, get dressed and get back on the road to this crazy christian event. (They promised us breakfast.) I get there…and whaddya know…no breakfast, no coffee, and no customers. (Clue…big fucking clue.)
By noon…there are no customers. The only people walking around were other vendors. There were a total of maybe 50 people that has shown up for the “seminars”, but they were all church members. All of the promised advertising, didn’t happen. The signs they were supposed to put up? Nothing. Nobody knew the event was happening, except the members of this church.
Also, I sprained my ankle tripping over the exposed extension cords they’d run to the booths “with electricity”. Cause, that extra 50 bucks was worth an extension cord, I guess. So, about 2pm, with my ankle swelling, and turning blue, I went to the promoter and said “Yeah, you know what, this sucks. I’m calling people to come get my stuff, I’m going to take a painkiller, and try to make it to my friend’s wedding.”
And this little twit had the temerity to look at me and say “Well, if you break your contract, there will be legal repercussions.” To which I whipped out my cell phone and said “Bitch, were you just stupid enough to threaten ME? Cause, baby, I have Attack Jews on retainer, and I’ve ALWAYS wanted my own church.”
She kinda backed up a step, and I followed, and said, “Let’s talk about contracts, shall we? Where’s the advertising you contracted to do? Where’s the entertainment? Where’s the “hostesses” to help the vendors? Where’s the vendor room? Where’s the food and drinks for vendors? And you know the best part, princess? You advertised and I signed a contract saying this was a charitable deduction, and then when I got here, after you cashed the check, you handed me a piece of paper saying that it wasn’t a charity after all. That, my angel, is a tax law violation, which, if I’m not mistaken, is a federal crime. So, you really want to Fuck With Me, Do Ya?” And I’m backing her down the aisle while saying this. “Let me tell you something, Little Miss I’m so Christian, I’m so Good, the lawsuit that I could bring for getting hurt at your event because of your negligence, and then you claiming I can’t leave to get medical attention would bankrupt this fucking place. Just in legal fees alone. And the media firestorm that I can cause would destroy you. So, you might want to rethink your attitude a little.”
And then, brainless bimbo, says “Well, you can leave, but you have to leave all your stuff here, and leave your booth up. If you’re not back from the emergency room before the show closes, we’ll be glad to box everything up and leave it outside for you.”
Me: “Have you lost your fucking mind? You think I’m just going to walk away from $5,000.00 worth of merchandise and booth equipment? So, what you’re saying is either you’re going to forcibly make me stay here…which is kidnapping, or you’re going to hold my business hostage, which, considering the amount of stuff I have is felony theft. Are you really sure you want me to make that phone call? Cause I can have the cops here in about 5 minutes, and I can have the media here in about 15. You really want to see this on the evening news, do you?”
Her: “I need to go talk to my partner.”
Me: “I’d call your lawyer too, cause baby, you just brought a knife to a gun fight. Threatening me may be the worst decision you’ve ever made.”
She scurries off. I call The Man and tell him to load sleepy Boy in the car and make the trek out here, because I can’t move a lot of my heavy stuff with my ankle all wonky. Keep in mind, that he’s an hour away, not counting all the time it takes to get a newly trained, non-diaper wearing kidlet into a car, with the snacks and the stop playing and the whatnot.
Other vendors have heard the brouhaha (as I’m not terribly subtle when angry, and do have a trained theatre voice), and came over to find out what was going on. When they heard that I was going to be breaking down, they decided that they were bailing on this Titanic of a show too. (Hee. That’s me, starting revolution.)
Her: Comes scurrying back 15 minutes later. “I’m so sorry that I seem to have given you the wrong impression. What about if we give you a worker for your booth, and we’ll get people to load everything for you at the end of the show.”
Me: “I’ve already called my husband, he and my child are on the way.”
Her: “well, you could tell them to turn around.”
Me: “You really are insane.”
Long story with them getting in my way of trying to get everything out, eventually we get everything loaded up in the cars, and had back home to drop it all off, so I can get the invitation to the wedding, wrap my ankle, take some painkillers, grab a passport and head over towards the wilds of Fort Worth. Only to realize, that because insane Xtian lady had been such a time waster, it was already almost dark, and that by the time I could make it to the wedding, it would have been over.
So, I’ve decided, from here on out, except for the shows I’ve already paid to attend, Church shows are no longer going to be part of my agenda. They’ve all been disasters.
Oh, and the final tally of sales from this event that they told us would have thousands and thousands of people? About 100 total people, all of the church members. Nobody there had any sales. Zero sales. Nada dollars. Not a fucking cent. Total, absolute, fucking waste of my time. Grrrr.