Giving a Speech in Hell

I presented a 30-minute keynote speech at the Product Marketing Summit in Las Vegas. The Product Marketing Summit is like any other conference. People walking around with blazers, doing a really good job at making you feel interesting in 1:1 conversations, only to betray you by trying to sell you some tech solution they built. It is a place of networking, relationship building, excruciating conversations, Patagonia vests, and deceit.

In the hours leading to the presentation, I was feeling excited but also sweating profusely. The sweatiness came from the fact that every presenter before me appeared as AI specimens programed to speak with the gravitas of presidential candidates. Not a single hiccup, stutter, stumble, voice crack…nothing. “Come on! Say something stupidly! Pronounce something wrong! Stumble on your laces!” Through five presentations, my prayers remained unanswered. 

Then, it was my turn. As the MC started to introduce me, I walked on to the stage. As soon as I got up, he stopped for a second, covered his mic, and then whispered in my ear: “you’re not supposed to come up here yet.”

I froze. I stood there grinning for a few more moments, unsure of what to do next. Do I pretend I did not hear him? Do I go to the corner of the stage and hide in the shadows until I’m summoned? I decided to walk back down and pretend I had forgotten something in my backpack. A couple minutes later, the MC started to introduce me again.

At that point, I was not in a position mentally to make good decisions, so instead of using the stairs, I climbed the front of the stage, using my hands and knees to lift me up. I elected to roll on to my stomach instead of propelling myself on to my feet. The MC continued to introduce me as I rolled on to the stage, the microphone rubbing against the floor, creating a powerful rumbling sound that startled the audience. I then got on my knees, forgetting the patellar tendonitis that had been plaguing my existence for the past six months. This shot a surge of pain throughout my body, and I let out a squeak, which the mic picked up. The MC paused momentarily to ensure I was ok, to which I gave a thumbs up. I proceeded to pat the dust off my shirt, forgetting that the mic was latched on the front of my shirt. This in turn generated a pounding sound similar to a psychopath pounding your front door. 

Ok, this is fine. I thought as everything around me caught fire. I started to get dizzy. The room came back in to focus just in time for the MC’s “Without further ado, please welcome Roy Rosell!” 

Hello everybody, my name is Roy Rosell and it is an absolute honor to be here, I will be presenting...

I looked behind me and realized that my slide deck was not displayed. 

What....the.....farkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. 

I decided to make light of the situation by making a joke about my dad and his technology failures and how he would be proud of me, but then the mic started glitching and they couldn’t hear the punchline.

Wait, what? The confused faces of the audiences expressed. 

“Can you hear me now?” I asked into the mic, to a sea of befuddled faces. As the crew fumbled around trying to figure out what was going on, I stood up there. Grinning. Dead inside. I hopped off stage again to talk to the technical crew to determine what was going on. As soon as I hopped off the stage, the presentation flashed on the screen. 

“Can you hear me now?” A few people from the audience gave me a thumbs up.

At that moment, I remembered something my mom would tell me when I would cry myself to sleep the days before presentations at school.

“Roycito, joo are esmart. Joo are fanny. Joo are deeferent. When joo realize thees, joo will be a GREAT speaker.”

I started presenting. I stuttered, I stumbled, I occasionally forgot the point I was making, and found myself laughing at my own (probably inappropriate for this setting) jokes. I changed slides too early, and lingered on some too long. But about a minute in, I realized I was having an amazing time. Two minutes later, I realized the audience was too. It was as if I gave them permission to unlatch their top button, crack open a can of beer, and kick up their feet.

As I finished the presentation and the audience applauded, I paused and mouthed something to myself. 

I am esmart. I am fanny. I am deeferent.