Speaking to Empty Chairs - A Public Speaking Tale

I vividly recall my first conference presentation. I was representing a blockchain start-up as their Director of Marketing, and I was scheduled to present our innovative technology in a Shark Tank like “pitch competition” (except the winner was voted by audience members). There were thousands of crypto and blockchain freaks crammed into the main hall, and the scent of cucumber flavored vape smoke mix with unwashed flesh filled the air. I was feeling anxious about my presentation. I didn’t come from a technical background, and I was about to present on probably the most convoluted technology the world has seen (or, has yet to see, in this case). 

Five minutes before start time, I made my way backstage, got mic’d up, gave myself a pep talk, then walked up to the podium. I looked down at my notes, took a deep breath, then looked up at the sea of...

Chairs. Empty chairs. And some carpet mites. I turned back to the organizer and my founders with a face of shock. They shrugged. My heart dropped into my stomach, splashing acid back up to my chest. I felt sick. Embarrassed. Sad. I motioned to the founders, mouthing “go bring people?!” The founders looked around, paced feverishly for a few moments, then looked back at me, dumbfounded. 

I was at a crossroads. I could take the really depressing option and present to the sea of chairs and the few carpet mites who would listen–something I was accustomed to as a punk rock musician who has played to crowds ranging from 0 to 5,000 (more often closer to 0). Or I could take the embarrassing/completely against my nature option: sprint out to the main hall and beg people to come listen.

I went against my better judgment and ran out to the main hall, yelling “ATTENTION EVERYONE! ATTTENTION EVERYONE! The PRESENTATION will begin in 1 MINUTE! I repeat… THE PRESENTATION will begin in ONE MINUTE!” I sprinted a lap around the hall, tugging people away from booths and shoving them in the direction of the presentation hall. I didn’t stick around with anyone for long enough to answer their pressing questions. Questions like: “wait, what? What presentation? About what? Who is presenting? Why should I care? Why are you pushing me?” 

Leaving out those critical details was an oversight on my part – an oversight that led to surprising results. The confusion and absurdity of it all drove about 200 perplexed conference goers to stumble their way into the presentation hall. I started off the presentation with my admission that I was set to present to 0 people and that just made me sad, and I was so grateful they decided to join me. 

We ended up placing second in the pitch contest. At the end, I asked someone in the audience why they decided to watch my pitch. He answered, “a saw a crazy guy drenched in sweat sprinting across the main hall, yelling ‘ATTENTION! ATTENTION!’ then disappearing into this room. That sold it for me.”