The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement (20 page)

"I’d like to know what you think about what you heard last night,’’ I say. "Lou, what was your reaction?’’
Lou says, "Well...I just couldn’t believe what he was saying about an hour of a bottleneck. I went home last night and thought it over to see if it all made sense. And, actually, we were wrong about a lost hour of a bottleneck costing $2,700.’’
"We were?’’ I ask.
"Only eighty percent of our products flow through the bottlenecks,’’ says Lou as he takes a piece of note paper from his shirt pocket. "So the truer cost ought to be eighty percent of our operating expense, and that comes to $2,188 an hour—not $2,735.’’
"Oh,’’ I say. "I suppose you’re right.’’
Then Lou smiles.
"Nevertheless,’’ he says, "I have to admit it was quite an eyeopener to look at the situation from that perspective.’’
"I agree,’’ I say. "What about the rest of you?’’
I go from person to person around the office asking for reactions, and we’re all pretty much in agreement. Even so, Bob seems hesitant about committing to some of the changes Jonah was talking about. And Ralph isn’t sure yet where he fits in. But Stacey is a strong advocate.
She sums up, saying, "I think it makes enough sense to risk the changes.’’
"Although I’m nervous about anything that increases operating expense at this point in time,’’ says Lou, "I agree with Stacey. As Jonah said, we may face a bigger risk just staying on the path we’ve been following.’’
Bob raises one of his meaty hands in preparation for a comment.
"Okay, but some of what Jonah talked about will be easier and faster to make happen than the rest,’’ he says. "Why don’t we go ahead with the easier things right away and see what kind of effect they have while we’re developing the others.’’
I tell him, "That sounds reasonable. What would you do first?’’
"I think I’d wanna move the Q.C. inspection points first, to check parts going into the bottlenecks,’’ says Bob. "The other Q.C. measures will take a little time, but we can have an inspector checking pre-bottleneck parts in no time—by the end of today if you want.’’
I nod. "Good. What about new rules for lunch breaks?’’
"We might have a squawk or two from the union,’’ he says.
I shake my head. "I think they’ll go along with it. Work out the details and I’ll talk to O’Donnell.’’
Bob makes a note on the paper pad on his lap. I stand up and step around the desk to emphasize what I’m about to say.
"One of the questions Jonah raised last night really struck home for me,’’ I tell them. "Why are we making the bottlenecks work on inventory that won’t increase throughput?’’
Bob looks at Stacey, and she looks back at him.
"That’s a good question,’’ she says.
Bob says, "We made the decision—’’
"I know the decision,’’ I say. "Build inventory to maintain efficiencies.’’ But our problem is not efficiencies. Our problem is our backlog of overdue orders. And it’s very visible to our customers and to division management. We positively must do something to improve our due-date performance, and Jonah has given us the insight on what that something has to be.
"Until now, we’ve expedited orders on the basis of who’s screamed the loudest,’’ I say. "From now on, late orders should get first priority over the others. An order that’s two weeks late gets priority over an order that’s one week late, and so on.’’
"We’ve tried that from time to time in the past,’’ says Stacey.
"Yes, but the key this time is we make sure the
bottlenecks
are processing parts for those late orders according to the same priority,’’ I say.
"That’s the sane approach to the problem, Al,’’ says Bob, "Now how do we make it happen?’’
"We have to find out which inventory en route to the bottlenecks is needed for late orders and which is simply going to end up in a warehouse. So here’s what we need to do,’’ I say. "Ralph, I want you to make us a list of all the overdue orders. Have them ranked in priority ranging from the most days overdue to the least days overdue. How soon can you have that for us?’’
"Well, that in itself won’t take very long,’’ he says. "The problem is we’ve got the monthlies to run.’’
I shake my head. "Nothing is more important to us right now than making the bottlenecks more productive. We need that list as soon as possible, because once you’ve got it, I want you to work with Stacey and her people in inventory control—find out what parts still have to be processed by either of the bottlenecks to complete those orders.’’
I turn to Stacey.
"After you know which parts are missing, get together with Bob and schedule the bottlenecks to start working on the parts for the latest order first, the next latest, and so on.’’
"What about the parts that don’t go through either one of the bottlenecks?’’ asks Bob.
"I’m not going to worry about those at the moment,’’ I tell him. "Let’s work on the assumption that anything not needing to go through a bottleneck is either waiting in front of assembly already, or will be by the time the bottleneck parts arrive.’’
Bob nods.
"Everybody got it?’’ I ask. "Nothing else takes priority over this. We don’t have time to take a step back and do some kind of headquarters number where everyone takes six months to think about it. We know what we have to do. Let’s get it done.’’

That evening, I’m driving along the Interstate. Around sunset, I’m looking around at the rooftops of suburban houses to either side of the highway. A sign goes by which says I’m two miles from the exit to Forest Grove. Julie’s parents live in Forest Grove. I take that exit.

Neither the Barnetts nor Julie know I’m coming. I told my mother not to tell the kids. I simply hopped in the car after work and headed down here. I’ve had enough of this hide-and-seek game she’s playing.

From a four-lane highway, I turn onto a smooth blacktop street which winds through a quiet neighborhood. It’s a nice neighborhood. The homes are unquestionably expensive and the lawns without exception are immaculate. The streets are lined with trees just getting the new leaves of spring. They are brilliant green in the golden setting sun.

I see the house halfway down the street. It’s the two-story brick colonial painted white. It has shutters. The shutters are made of aluminum and have no hinges; they are non-functional but traditional. This is where Julie grew up.

I park the
Mazda
by the curb in front of the house. I look up the driveway, and sure enough, there is Julie’s Accord in front of the garage.

Before I have reached the front door, it opens. Ada Barnett is standing behind the screen. I see her hand reach down and click the screen door lock as I approach.

"Hello,’’ I say.
"I told you she doesn’t want to talk to you,’’ says Ada. "Will you just ask her please?’’ I ask. "She
is
my wife.’’ "If you want to talk to Julie, you can do it through her lawyer,’’ says Ada.

She starts to close the door.
I say, "Ada, I am not leaving until I talk to your daughter.’’ "If you don’t leave, I will call the police to have you removed from our property,’’ says Ada Barnett.
"Then I will wait in my car,’’ I say. "You don’t own the street.’’
The door closes. I walk across the lawn and over the sidewalk, and get in the
Mazda
. I sit there and stare at the house.
Every so often, I notice the curtains move behind the window glass of the Barnett house. After about forty five minutes, the sun has set and I’m seriously wondering how long I can sit here when the front door opens again.
Julie walks out. She’s wearing jeans and sneakers and a sweater. The jeans and sneakers make her look young. She reminds me of a teenager meeting a boyfriend her parents disapprove of. She comes across the lawn and I get out of the car.
When she’s about ten feet away she stops, as if she’s worried about getting too close, where I might grab her, pull her into the car, and drive like the wind to my tent in the desert or something.
We look each other over. I slide my hands into my pockets. For openers, I say, "So... how have you been?’’ "If you want to know the truth,’’ she says, "I’ve been rotten.
How have you been?’’
"Worried about you.’’
She glances away. I slap the roof of the
Mazda
. "Let’s go for a ride,’’ I say.
"No, I can’t,’’ she says.
"How about a walk then?’’ I ask.
"Alex, just tell me what you want, okay?’’ she says. "I want to know why you’re doing this!’’
"Because I don’t know if I want to be married to you any more,’’ she says. "Isn’t that obvious?’’
"Okay, can’t we talk about it?’’
She says nothing.
"Come on,’’ I say. "Let’s take that walk—just once around the block. Unless you want to give the neighbors lots to talk about.’’
Julie looks around at the houses and realizes we’re a spectacle. Awkwardly, she steps toward me. I hold out my hand. She doesn’t take it, but we turn together and begin a stroll down the sidewalk. I wave to the Barnett house and note the flurry of a curtain. Julie and I walk a hundred feet or so in the twilight before we say anything. At last I break the silence.
"Look, I’m sorry about what happened that weekend,’’ I tell her. "But what else could I do? Davey expected me—’’ "It wasn’t because you went on the hike with Davey,’’ she says. "That was just the last straw. All of a sudden, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get away.’’
"Julie, why didn’t you at least let me know where you were?’’ "Listen,’’ she says. "I went away from you so I could be alone.’’
Hesitantly, I ask, "So...do you want a divorce?’’ "I don’t know yet,’’ she says.
"Well, when will you know?’’
"Al, this has been a very mixed up time for me,’’ she says. "I don’t know what to do. I can’t decide anything. My mother tells me one thing. My father tells me something else. My friends tell me something else. Everyone except me knows what I should do.’’
"You went off to be by yourself to make a decision that’s going to affect both of us as well as our kids. And you’re listening to everyone except the three other people whose lives are going to be screwed up if you don’t come back,’’ I say.
"This is something I need to figure out on my own, away from the pressures of you three.’’
"All I’m suggesting is that we talk about what’s bothering you.’’
She sighs in exasperation and says, "Al, we’ve been over it a million times already!’’
"Okay, look, just tell me this: are you having an affair?’’ Julie stops. We have reached the corner.
She says coldly, "I think I’ve gone far enough with you.’’ I stand there for a moment as she turns and heads back
toward her parents’ house. I catch up with her.
I say, "Well? Are you or aren’t you?’’
"Of course I’m not having an affair!’’ she yells. "Do you think
I’d be staying with my
parents
if I were having an affair?’’ A man who is walking his dog turns and stares at us. Julie and I stride past him in stiff silence.
I whisper to Julie, "I just had to know . . . that’s all.’’ "If you think I’d leave my children just to go have a fling with some stranger, you have no understanding of who I am,’’ she says.
I feel as if she’d slapped my face.
"Julie, I’m sorry,’’ I tell her. "That kind of thing sometimes happens, and I just needed to make sure of what’s going on.’’ She slows her walk. I put my hand on her shoulder. She brushes it off.
"Al, I’ve been unhappy for a long time,’’ she says. "And I’ll tell you something: I feel guilty about it. I feel as though I don’t have a right to be unhappy. I just know I am.’’
With irritation, I see we’re back in front of her parents’ house. The walk was too short. Ada is standing in plain view at the window. Julie and I stop. I lean against the rear fender of the
Mazda
.
"Why don’t you pack your things and come home with me,’’ I suggest, but she’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished the sentence.
"No, I’m not ready to do that,’’ she says.
"Okay, look,’’ I say. "The choice is this: You stay away and we get a divorce. Or we get back together and struggle to make the marriage work. The longer you stay away, the more we’re going to drift apart from each other and toward a divorce. And if we get a divorce, you know what’s going to happen. We’ve seen it happen over and over to our friends. Do you really want that? Come on, come home. I promise we can make it better.’’
She shakes her head. "I can’t, Al. I’ve heard too many promises before.’’
I say, "Then you want a divorce?’’
Julie says, "I told you, I don’t know!’’
"Okay,’’ I say finally. "I can’t make up your mind for you.
Maybe it is your decision. All I can say is I want you back. I’m sure that’s what the kids want too. Give me a call when you know what
you
want.’’
"That was exactly what I planned to do, Al.’’
I get into the
Mazda
and start the engine. Rolling down the window, I look up at her as she stands on the sidewalk next to the car.
"You know, I do happen to love you,’’ I tell her. This finally melts her. She comes to the car and leans down. Reaching through the window, I take her hand for a moment. She kisses me. Then without a word she stands up and walks away; halfway across the lawn, she breaks into a run. I watch her until she’s disappeared through the door. Then I shake my head, put the car into gear, and drive away.

I’m home by ten o’clock that night. Depressed, but home. Rummaging through the refrigerator, I attempt to find dinner, but have to settle for cold spaghetti and some leftover peas. Washing it down with some leftover vodka, I dine in dejection.

I’m wondering while I’m eating what I’m going to do if Julie doesn’t come back. If I don’t have a wife, do I start to date women again? Where would I meet them? I have a sudden vision of myself standing in the bar of the Bearington Holiday Inn, attempting to be sexy while asking strange females, "What’s your sign?’’

Is
that
my fate? My God. And anyway, do lines like that even work these days? Did they ever?
I must know
somebody
to go out with.
For a while, I sit there thinking of all the available women I know. Who would go out with me? Whom would I want to go out with? It doesn’t take long to exhaust the list. Then one woman comes to mind. Getting up from my chair, I go to the phone and spend about five minutes staring at it.
Should I?
Nervously, I dial the number. I hang up before it rings. I stare at the phone some more. Oh, what the hell! All she can do is say no, right? I dial the number again. It rings about ten times before anyone answers.
"Hello.’’ It’s her father.
"May I speak to Julie please.’’
Pause. "Just a minute.’’
The moments pass.
"Hello?’’ says Julie.
"Hi, it’s me.’’
"Al?’’
I say, "Yeah, listen, I know it’s late, but I just want to ask you something.’’
"If it has to do with getting a divorce or coming home—’’
"No, no, no,’’ I tell her. "I was just wondering if while you’re making up your mind, there would be any harm in us seeing each other once in a while.’’
She says, "Well...I guess not.’’
"Good. What are you doing Saturday night?’’ I ask. There is a moment of silence as the smile forms on her face. Amused, she asks, "Are you asking me for a date?’’ "Yes, I am.’’
Long pause.
I say, "So would you like to go out with me?’’
"Yes, I’d like that a lot,’’ she says finally.
"Great. How about I see you at 7:30?’’
"I’ll be ready,’’ she says.