I was looking through an old folder the other day, and I found this blog I wrote for my old website about the time I went to a speed networking event—one of my few dalliances with the corporate dance. I'm reposting it here to warn you of what awaits if you're tempted to try it for yourself.

The room was hot, unbearably so. Was it the executive suite’s lack of air con? Or was everyone sweating at the thought of forced interaction with strangers at 9:30 in the morning?

“Don’t go to speed networking events looking for new clients,” the YouTube video I’d watched the day before had warned. “Look to expand your network." If expanding my network meant saying good morning to the catering lady as I poured myself a glass of water, I was off to a good start.

I found a spot out of the sun and flicked through the event booklet, both to keep myself looking busy and to keep my mind off the distinct possibility that ever-larger sweat patches were appearing under my arms.

A motivational speaker-type stood in front of a projector screen and announced that the speed networking was about to begin, so could we all find a spot at a table?

The layout wasn’t what I’d expected; I’d imagined lots of little tables that we’d swap every couple of minutes. Instead, we were all seated around large wedding reception-style tables (eight to a table). Did it make it better or worse that we had to pitch ourselves to seven other people at once, not just one?  I was too taken with the motivational speaker’s bleached teeth to work it out. I plonked myself down at the nearest, emptiest table. I struck up a conversation with a young girl from Nottingham who told me that her business had free yo-yos on their stand in the expo downstairs. 

Did you know that touring yo-yo artists that you need to book months in advance are a thing? 

“Anyone know anywhere I can get some food?” asked one bloke in a dressed-in-a-hurry suit as he sat down. No one was sure. “Not gonna lie,” he continued, “I was only here for the free breakfast, and I’ve missed it. I’ve got no business cards, nothing.”

Before anyone could console him, Mr Motivator was telling us how it worked. He’d blow a whistle, and we then had a minute to do our elevator pitch and dole out our business cards.  When he blew again, the next person would pick up the baton.

The pitches began clockwise from the other side of the table. The first person spoke so quietly that I didn’t hear what they were saying. Whistle. A business card landed in front of me.

The second person started. My mind wandered to what I was going to say. Another business card. 

The whistle blew. The bloke who had neither breakfast nor business cards gave an impassioned speech about apprenticeships. Whistle. No business card (obviously). 

A pleasant lady spoke about the high-class hotel she represented. I pondered the stories I’d heard about said hotel, mostly involving vice and indiscretion. Whistle. I think there was a business card.

Silence. Oh, was I meant to start? I’d got it into my head that another whistle was going to blow to say ‘go’. I bulldozed my way through the little speech I’d been practicing in the car, remembering to make eye contact with at least some of the table. The whistle blew as I garbled my last sentence and threw my business cards at people.

Phew. One down.

Once everyone had spoken, we all swapped tables. Still avoiding direct sunlight, I ended up on a table with only five people. One had gotten up at 5 a.m. and travelled from Lincoln for this. Poor sod. I mean, I’d gotten up at four to let the cat out, but I’d at least been able to go back to bed for a couple of hours.  

I pitched first to get it out the way. The bloke opposite refused my business card. Cheers, dickhead. 

The next person forgot what they were there to pitch but remembered their joke at the end.

I didn’t really hear what the others said because I was ruminating on the bloke opposite refusing my business card. I
pondered refusing his, but then he didn’t offer any, the tightwad.

With other tables still pitching, we sat in semi-awkward silence until it was time to rotate again.

Ending up on a table with three people I’d already sat with, the final round was largely a case of marking time and everyone collecting business cards for things they had no interest in.

Thankfully, at the last second, it turned out that there was another, far more successful, copywriter on the table. Once the pitching was done, I grabbed some water—all that self-promo makes you thirsty—and made a beeline for her. We sat nattering about how we didn’t like speed networking.

In conclusion, I didn’t like speed networking. No one likes speed networking. Everyone feels they have to speed network because everyone else does. The only people who profit are motivational business guru types and Vistaprint. 

That said, I met someone who gave me really good advice on how to progress in freelance copywriting. The event over, I went down to the expo to get a yo-yo and as many free pens as it took to justify the £14 I’d spent on speed networking. 
 

Just a brief post to say congratulations to James D. Kiesewetter, whose brilliant book, Smile Your Last Breath Away, recently took top prize in both the Spiritual/Metaphysical Fiction and the Inspirational/Visionary Fiction categories at the Global eBook Awards.

I'm particularly pleased because I edited it! So if you want the editor of award-winning books to work on your project, get in touch.