There is a very specific kind of optimism involved in loading your entire small business into the back of a truck at an ungodly hour and thinking:
Yep. This is going to be great.
You’ve got the tables.
The tent.
The products.
The signs.
The displays.
The bags.
The cash box.
Approximately 47 totes containing things you are absolutely positive you need.
And then you stand there staring at the truck bed thinking:
Those bungee cords are gonna hold, right?
Because apparently this is entrepreneurship.
Not the cute version you see on TikTok where someone is sipping an iced coffee while casually packing three aesthetically pleasing orders.
No.
This is me staring in the rearview mirror wondering if one of my six-foot tables is about to achieve flight somewhere on the highway.
SO… We Did Our First Vendor Event
My mom and I officially packed up So… This Is Life and headed to our first vendor event.
And here's the verdict:
It was okay.
Not amazing.
Not terrible.
Nobody cried.
Nothing blew away.
The tent remained on the ground.
We made six sales and about $70, which, considering the foot traffic was pretty slow, really wasn't a complete disaster.
Was it our market?
Nope.
And that's okay.
I think one of the things nobody tells you when you start a small business is that you're going to spend a lot of time figuring out where you don't belong before you figure out where you do.
You can make cute stuff. You can have a great booth. You can make signs, create bundles, obsess over displays and rearrange a basket seventeen times because something just isn't right.
But if your people aren't there?
Your people aren't there.
That's not failure.
That's data.
Very exhausting data that you had to load into a truck yourself, but data nonetheless.
BUT LET'S DISCUSS THE REAL ISSUE HERE.
Loading the truck.
I am 45 years old.
My business partner is my mother.
WHO APPROVED THIS BUSINESS MODEL?
At some point while carrying yet another tote, I realized that vendor events are approximately 20% selling things and 80% moving heavy shit from one location to another.
Load the truck.
Unload the truck.
Set up the tables.
Move the tables because I don't like where they are.
Set up the racks.
Move the racks.
Put out the products.
Rearrange the products.
Stand there for hours.
Pack up the products.
Take down the racks.
Fold the tables.
Load the truck AGAIN.
Drive home.
Unload the truck AGAIN.
By the time we were finished, my body was like:
Ma'am. We need to discuss your choices.
I needed approximately two business days to recover.
When did this happen?
When did carrying a plastic tote suddenly feel like I was training for a marathon?
Not that I actually know what training for a marathon feels like.
I don't exercise.
I need to.
I want to.
I don't.
That's a different blog post.
At Least There Were Fruity Pebble Donuts
There was a food truck.
This is important.
Because if you're going to stand at a vendor event wondering whether you've wasted an entire day of your life, you should at least be able to eat something ridiculous while doing it.
Enter:
Fruity Pebble donuts.
Seven dollars.
And listen.
I don't know what kind of sorcery was happening in that food truck, but OH. MY. GOD.
Amazing.
Was spending $7 at another vendor while questioning the profitability of my own vendor booth financially responsible?
That is absolutely none of your business.
Sometimes self-care is a donut covered in children's cereal.
Then Comes The Feeling
There was definitely a point during the day when I looked around and thought:
Well. We wasted our time.
And I think anyone who has tried to build something has had that moment.
You put so much time into preparing.
You make the inventory.
You buy the supplies.
You make the signs.
You price everything.
You load everything.
You show up.
And then...
nothing.
Or at least it feels like nothing.
But then somebody walks over.
They pick something up.
They laugh at one of the names.
They tell you they love your booth.
They buy something.
Then someone else does.
And suddenly six people chose to spend their money on something my mom and I made.
Six people took a little piece of this weird business we're building home with them.
And when I looked at it that way?
It wasn't a wasted day.
We learned how long setup actually takes.
We learned what displays worked.
We learned what people picked up.
We learned what questions they asked.
We learned what we forgot.
We learned what we absolutely did not need to bring.
And most importantly, we learned that this particular market probably wasn't our market.
That's it.
No dramatic WE FAILED.
Just:
Okay. That wasn't it. What's next?
And I actually really like that.
Unfortunately, What's Next Is TWO MORE EVENTS
Because apparently we learned absolutely nothing about our physical limitations.
We have two events this weekend.
TWO.
Meanwhile, because I clearly don't have enough going on, I'm also revamping the website and redoing all of our inventory.
God help me.
And now I've decided I need a barcode scanner.
Why?
Because I saw a TikTok.
Obviously.
There I was, innocently scrolling, when some woman scanned a barcode and her inventory magically updated and my brain immediately went:
THIS COULD REVOLUTIONIZE THE BUSINESS.
Could I continue manually tracking inventory like a normal person?
Sure.
Am I now researching barcode scanners as though So… This Is Life has a 40,000-square-foot distribution center?
Also yes.
This is how small-business owners get into trouble.
You start with:
I'm just going to make a few things.
Then suddenly you're standing in your house saying things like:
"Mom, I think we need a barcode system."
Ma'am.
You have scrunchies in a tote.
Calm down.
But will I calm down?
Absolutely not.
SO… HERE'S WHAT I'M LEARNING
Starting something new is basically one giant experiment.
Some things work.
Some things don't.
Some markets are great.
Some markets give you Fruity Pebble donuts and a valuable life lesson.
You adjust.
You change things.
You try again.
And somewhere in between loading the truck, questioning your life choices, making six sales, spending $7 on a donut and convincing yourself that a barcode scanner is the missing piece of your retail empire...
you realize you're actually doing it.
Not perfectly.
Not exactly how you imagined.
But you're doing it.
So we'll load the truck again this weekend.
We'll secure the tables with enough bungee cords to restrain a small aircraft.
We'll set everything up.
We'll probably change the display seventeen times.
My mom and I will complain about our backs.
I'll buy something I don't need.
And we'll see what happens.
Because maybe the next one is our market.
And if it isn't?
We'll pack everything back into the truck and try another one.
After I recover for two business days.
There is a very specific kind of optimism involved in loading your entire small business into the back of a truck at an ungodly hour and thinking:
Yep. This is going to be great.
You’ve got the tables.
The tent.
The products.
The signs.
The displays.
The bags.
The cash box.
Approximately 47 totes containing things you are absolutely positive you need.
And then you stand there staring at the truck bed thinking:
Those bungee cords are gonna hold, right?
Because apparently this is entrepreneurship.
Not the cute version you see on TikTok where someone is sipping an iced coffee while casually packing three aesthetically pleasing orders.
No.
This is me staring in the rearview mirror wondering if one of my six-foot tables is about to achieve flight somewhere on the highway.
SO… We Did Our First Vendor Event
My mom and I officially packed up So… This Is Life and headed to our first vendor event.
And here's the verdict:
It was okay.
Not amazing.
Not terrible.
Nobody cried.
Nothing blew away.
The tent remained on the ground.
We made six sales and about $70, which, considering the foot traffic was pretty slow, really wasn't a complete disaster.
Was it our market?
Nope.
And that's okay.
I think one of the things nobody tells you when you start a small business is that you're going to spend a lot of time figuring out where you don't belong before you figure out where you do.
You can make cute stuff. You can have a great booth. You can make signs, create bundles, obsess over displays and rearrange a basket seventeen times because something just isn't right.
But if your people aren't there?
Your people aren't there.
That's not failure.
That's data.
Very exhausting data that you had to load into a truck yourself, but data nonetheless.
BUT LET'S DISCUSS THE REAL ISSUE HERE.
Loading the truck.
I am 45 years old.
My business partner is my mother.
WHO APPROVED THIS BUSINESS MODEL?
At some point while carrying yet another tote, I realized that vendor events are approximately 20% selling things and 80% moving heavy shit from one location to another.
Load the truck.
Unload the truck.
Set up the tables.
Move the tables because I don't like where they are.
Set up the racks.
Move the racks.
Put out the products.
Rearrange the products.
Stand there for hours.
Pack up the products.
Take down the racks.
Fold the tables.
Load the truck AGAIN.
Drive home.
Unload the truck AGAIN.
By the time we were finished, my body was like:
Ma'am. We need to discuss your choices.
I needed approximately two business days to recover.
When did this happen?
When did carrying a plastic tote suddenly feel like I was training for a marathon?
Not that I actually know what training for a marathon feels like.
I don't exercise.
I need to.
I want to.
I don't.
That's a different blog post.
At Least There Were Fruity Pebble Donuts
There was a food truck.
This is important.
Because if you're going to stand at a vendor event wondering whether you've wasted an entire day of your life, you should at least be able to eat something ridiculous while doing it.
Enter:
Fruity Pebble donuts.
Seven dollars.
And listen.
I don't know what kind of sorcery was happening in that food truck, but OH. MY. GOD.
Amazing.
Was spending $7 at another vendor while questioning the profitability of my own vendor booth financially responsible?
That is absolutely none of your business.
Sometimes self-care is a donut covered in children's cereal.
Then Comes The Feeling
There was definitely a point during the day when I looked around and thought:
Well. We wasted our time.
And I think anyone who has tried to build something has had that moment.
You put so much time into preparing.
You make the inventory.
You buy the supplies.
You make the signs.
You price everything.
You load everything.
You show up.
And then...
nothing.
Or at least it feels like nothing.
But then somebody walks over.
They pick something up.
They laugh at one of the names.
They tell you they love your booth.
They buy something.
Then someone else does.
And suddenly six people chose to spend their money on something my mom and I made.
Six people took a little piece of this weird business we're building home with them.
And when I looked at it that way?
It wasn't a wasted day.
We learned how long setup actually takes.
We learned what displays worked.
We learned what people picked up.
We learned what questions they asked.
We learned what we forgot.
We learned what we absolutely did not need to bring.
And most importantly, we learned that this particular market probably wasn't our market.
That's it.
No dramatic WE FAILED.
Just:
Okay. That wasn't it. What's next?
And I actually really like that.
Unfortunately, What's Next Is TWO MORE EVENTS
Because apparently we learned absolutely nothing about our physical limitations.
We have two events this weekend.
TWO.
Meanwhile, because I clearly don't have enough going on, I'm also revamping the website and redoing all of our inventory.
God help me.
And now I've decided I need a barcode scanner.
Why?
Because I saw a TikTok.
Obviously.
There I was, innocently scrolling, when some woman scanned a barcode and her inventory magically updated and my brain immediately went:
THIS COULD REVOLUTIONIZE THE BUSINESS.
Could I continue manually tracking inventory like a normal person?
Sure.
Am I now researching barcode scanners as though So… This Is Life has a 40,000-square-foot distribution center?
Also yes.
This is how small-business owners get into trouble.
You start with:
I'm just going to make a few things.
Then suddenly you're standing in your house saying things like:
"Mom, I think we need a barcode system."
Ma'am.
You have scrunchies in a tote.
Calm down.
But will I calm down?
Absolutely not.
SO… HERE'S WHAT I'M LEARNING
Starting something new is basically one giant experiment.
Some things work.
Some things don't.
Some markets are great.
Some markets give you Fruity Pebble donuts and a valuable life lesson.
You adjust.
You change things.
You try again.
And somewhere in between loading the truck, questioning your life choices, making six sales, spending $7 on a donut and convincing yourself that a barcode scanner is the missing piece of your retail empire...
you realize you're actually doing it.
Not perfectly.
Not exactly how you imagined.
But you're doing it.
So we'll load the truck again this weekend.
We'll secure the tables with enough bungee cords to restrain a small aircraft.
We'll set everything up.
We'll probably change the display seventeen times.
My mom and I will complain about our backs.
I'll buy something I don't need.
And we'll see what happens.
Because maybe the next one is our market.
And if it isn't?
We'll pack everything back into the truck and try another one.
After I recover for two business days.