No more $12 coffees for me. I'm going to do Milipol for a dollar a day.

After bluffing my way into a free coffee as a Russian oligarch yesterday, I was reminded of the level of hospitality at European trade shows. Most of the exhibitors offer refreshments, so I dispensed with subterfuge, skipped breakfast and headed straight to the Milipol show where I quickly hob-nobbed into the Safariland booth. What are friends for except bumming free food?

My old buddy Scott Carnahan was on hand to usher me to Safariland’s stand where fresh sandwiches and a Nestle espresso machine waited. Scott has been with Safariland since I first met him at a Southwest Pistol League combat match in 1985. I’ve been through three or four employers since then.
I started by hitting him up for a small cheese sandwich and a glass of Evian, followed by a coffee. That hit the spot.

Because Safariland is now owned by BAE Systems, the gigantic British aerospace company, Scott holds a typically convoluted corporate title. His business card says “vice president, category and segment marketing, duty gear, less lethal and firearms accessories.”

“What does that mean?” I ask my chum. Scott shrugged. “Marketing,” he replied.

He does it well. Safariland recently nailed a large holster contract, equipping the entire French police—from village constables to the elite Gendarmerie and everyone in between, some 300,000 holsters total—with a snatch-proof Level III Safariland duty holster. Plain clothes officers included, although with a concealed version.

Marketing is what shows like Milipol are all about. The goal is to fly the corporate flag, which involves handing out brochures and catalogs and keychains and lapel pins while salesmen describe the product and offer “show specials” to entice customers to buy on the spot. Wining and dining comes into play too an shows like Milipol. There’s no better city for eating out than Paris (Not even New York).

I saw some interesting marketing taking place in an aisle. A manufacturer of a high-tech “riot suit” was demonstrating its product by having a “rioter” attack a policeman wearing the suit—with a baseball bat. I didn’t think you could buy a baseball bat in France.

The suit was impressive. The blows resounded with a sharp plastic crack, but the policeman was unphased. They should be able to sell a boatload of these things to British soccer police. If marketing is all about making a memorable impression, here was a good example.

Just like yesterday, I was amazed at the number of companies selling surveillance equipment. Thales, the French aerospace giant, unveiled a mini drone weighing only 500 grams called Spy Arrow. It’s hand-launched and “…is capable of carrying out tasks in support of border security, crisis management, critical infrastructure support, counter-criminal and terrorist activity, reconnaissance and much more.”

I was glad Spy Arrow could do “much more.” After all, a UAV that "generates a geo-referenced video display in real time out to a range of 3 km, while cruising at 27 knots” might not be enough. That “much more” could be crucial.

American manufacturer Peli was there with its 9500 Shelter Lighting System. This is basically a set of stadium lights in a Pelican case. Peli recently changed its name from Pelican, so I guess a Pelican case is now a Peli case.

Here’s a good example of somebody with an incredible long title in the marketing department that naming a company after a bird that eats fish is a bad image. Changing to Peli, a meaningless abbreviation, is apparently better branding.

IAI had their passive off-the-air interception “listening” device, which is a satellite-based eavesdropping system that can pinpoint a cell phone even when it’s off. How does that work? I don’t think I want to know. (Don’t worry. IAI assures us that the system is only to be used for “selection of high-value targets” and to “support law enforcement forces.”)

As I head to the HK booth to schmooze some German beer at the end of the day, I wonder how many times my retina has been scanned, my fingerprint analyzed, my location GPS’d and my cell phone tapped. Going to Milipol can be scary.

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