Lunging Forward: Using Honesty and Humor to Avert a Potential Q&A Disaster
Hans Christian Andersen. Does this name ring a bell?
If you don’t recognize the name, don’t Google it and don’t ask anyone. What if I tell you that your professional credibility rests upon how much you know about this Anderson person? Still nothing. Just in case you haven’t noticed: Right now 110 people are staring at you as your mind draws a complete blank.
That was what happened to me last Tuesday when I gave a talk on storytelling in Switzerland.
Several months ago, the Swiss Finance Institute (SFI) invited me to lead a seminar on the importance of storytelling in modern financial communication. About two dozen interviews with banking and finance experts and six presentation drafts later, I found myself standing in the Aula, the main auditorium of the University of Zurich, on May 3.
About twenty minutes before my talk, people started streaming in. My heart was pounding as if I just drank a triple espresso. Why are they coming on a rainy evening? I wondered quietly to myself. I knew perfectly well why they came. Though not new to the United States anymore, Storytelling in business is relatively new in Europe. People are curious. Still, doubting thoughts flooded my mind as more people poured into the lavish auditorium.
I had been prepared for the Aula’s grandeur even before I saw it. The Aula is where Winston Churchill gave his 1946 “Let Europe Arise” address. Eighty years later, I was standing at the same podium delivering a very different address. It is a place known for great events, my local organizer told me, so no pressure at all. He attached a smiling emoji with this reminder. When I arrived, I saw the Aula’s floor-to-ceiling marble. Busts of very somber-looking men lined up evenly around the semi-circle-shaped venue. And now, with people filling up the space, it looked even more imposing.
I was expecting a relatively introverted audience. After all, books and Swiss colleagues have advised me not to expect active verbal participation, a workshop dynamic I have gotten used to in the States. During my talk, however, I saw lots of smiling and nodding faces. I saw lots of note-taking. And when I asked my audience to exchange their answers to my “interactive questions” with someone sitting next to them, they filled the whole room with engaging discussions. The organizers gave me approving nods.
Then came Q&A. I was even able to get a sprinkle of chuckles here and there. Time flew. And then the last question came. “Esther, what do you think of Hans Christian Andersen? And why are his stories so enduring?”
The frown on my face must have been very noticeable. The microphone didn’t work well just at this precise moment and I couldn’t hear the whole name. I asked for the question to be repeated. Hans Christian Andersen. This time, I think I heard it right but still, Hans Christian Andersen… nothing came to mind. So, I had to be honest.
“I don’t recognize this name,” was what I believe I said. A small gasp erupted. Groups of people throughout the room murmured beneath their breath. Without completely grasping the situation, I knew I was losing my credibility quickly. The goodwill I had established up until that point was about to be completely reversed. Hours and hours of work was going to waste.
“Maybe you have heard of a story called ‘The Little Mermaid’?” someone sitting all the way in the back yelled out.
Little Mermaid? Oh, Little Mermaid! Hans Christian Andersen was the author, like many others, who wrote those endearing and enduring stories that have been popularized by Disney. Too late. I had already made a fool of myself. I had lost my credibility. What to do? Instead of retreating, finding excuses, and pretending that all of these back-and-forth didn’t happen, I “lunged” forward.
“What? I thought Walt Disney wrote that story!” Out came these words from my mouth. I discovered an instinct I didn’t know I had.
The whole room let out a loud, jolly laugh. If I held any residual impression of an introverted, serious and conservative audience, it was completely gone with this laugh eruption. “Oh, that’s what happens when we invite ‘these Americans’ over,” my host--the SFI co-director-- said, stepping in to help wrap up the talk. A generous round of applause and many more smiles flashed across the Aula. Of all those who came up to chat with me afterwards, more than a handful of individuals expressed sympathy for what could have been a public embarrassment for me. But they appreciated my “going with the flow.”
More important than going with the flow, I learned that “lunging forward” into a risky but humorous answer became a way to re-establish rapport with my audience. During a Q&A, an audience does not expect you to be Google or Siri and deliver perfect answers on command. You are human. And that means that, unlike a search engine, you have the ability to provide comic relief! If you ever find yourself drawing a blank while facing one hundred people—not to mention some intimidating sculptures of stern-looking men lined up around the room—be honest, acknowledging your humanity. And then use your humanity to win back the room.
If you need help telling your story or prepared for your next Q&A, contact us for a complimentary consultation session! And sign up for our Monthly Guide to Better Storytelling list. It’s packed with information on free events, tips and coaching sessions.
Photo credit: Maik Meusel.
