The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement (24 page)

It’s a Friday afternoon. Out in the parking lot, the people on first shift are getting into their cars to go home. There is the usual congestion at the gate. I’m in my office—minding my own business—when suddenly, from through the half-open door . . . BAM!

Something ricochets off the ceiling tiles. I jump to my feet, check myself for wounds and, finding none, search the carpet for the offending missile. It’s a champagne cork.

There is laughing outside my door. In the next instant, it seems as though everyone is in my office. There is Stacey, Bob Donovan (who holds the bottle from which the cork came), Ralph, Fran, a couple of the secretaries, and a swarm of other people—even Lou joins us. Fran hands me one of the styrofoam coffee cups she’s dispensing to everyone. Bob fills it from the bottle.
"What’s this all about?’’ I ask.

"I’ll tell you in the toast I’m going to make as soon as everyone has something to swallow,’’ says Bob.
More bottles are opened—there is a case of this stuff—and when all the cups are filled, Bob lifts his own.
"Here’s to a new plant record in shipments of product,’’ he says. "Lou went through the records for us and discovered that until now the best this place has ever done in a month was thirtyone orders shipped at value of about two million dollars. This month we topped that. We shipped fifty-seven customer orders with a value of . . . well, in round numbers, we’ll call it a cool three million.’’
"Not only did we ship more product,’’ says Stacey, "but, having just calculated our inventory levels, I am pleased to report that between last month and now, we’ve had a twelve percent net decline in work-in-process inventory.’’
"Well, then, let’s drink to making money!’’ I say.
And we do.
"Mmmmm... industrial strength champagne,’’ says Stacey.
"Very distinctive,’’ says Ralph to Bob. "Did you pick this out yourself?’’
"Keep drinking. It gets better,’’ says Donovan.
I’m just about to hazard a second cup when I notice Fran beside me.
"Mr. Rogo?’’
"Yes.’’
"Bill Peach is on the line,’’ says Fran.
I shake my head wondering what the hell it’s going to be this time.
"I’ll take it at your desk, Fran.’’
I go out there and punch the blinking button on my phone and pick it up.
"Yes, Bill, what can I do for you?’’
"I was just talking to Johnny Jons,’’ says Peach.
I automatically grab a pencil and pull over a pad of paper to take down the particulars on whatever order is causing us grief. I wait for Peach to continue, but he doesn’t say anything for a second.
"What’s the problem?’’ I ask him.
"No problem,’’ says Peach. "Actually he was very happy.’’
"Really? What about?’’
"He mentioned you’ve been coming through lately for him on a lot of late customer orders,’’ says Peach. "Some kind of special effort I guess.’’
"Well, yes and no. We’re doing a few things a little differently now,’’ I say.
"Well, whatever. The reason I called is I know how I’m always on your case when things go wrong, Al, so I just wanted to tell you thanks from me and Jons for doing something right,’’ says Peach.
"Thanks, Bill,’’ I tell him. "Thanks for calling.’’

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou,’’ I’m blithering to Stacey as she parks her car in my driveway. "You are a truly wonderful person for driving me home . . . and I truly meant that truly.’’

"Don’t mention it,’’ she says. "I’m glad we had something to celebrate.’’
She shuts off the engine. I look up at my house, which is dark except for one light. I had the good sense earlier to call my mother and tell her not to hold dinner for me. That was smart because the celebration continued onward and outward after Peach’s call. About half of the original group went to dinner together. Lou and Ralph threw in the towel early. But Donovan, Stacey and I—along with three or four die-hards—went to a bar after we ate and we had a good time. Now it is 1:30 and I am blissfully stinko.
The
Mazda
for safety’s sake, it still parked behind the bar. Stacey, who switched to club soda a couple of hours ago, has generously played chauffeur to Bob and me. About ten minutes ago, we nudged Donovan through his kitchen door where he stood there bewildered for a moment before bidding us a good evening. If he remembers, Donovan is supposed to enlist his wife later today to drive us over to the bar and retrieve our vehicles.
Stacey gets out of the car and comes around and opens my door so I can spill myself onto the driveway. Standing up on uncertain legs, I steady myself against the car.
"I’ve never seen you smile so much,’’ says Stacey.
"I’ve got a lot to smile about,’’ I tell her.
"Wish you could be this happy in staff meetings,’’ she says.
"Henceforth, I shall smile continuously through all staff meetings,’’ I proclaim.
"Come on, I’ll make sure you get to the door,’’ she says.
With her hands around my arm to steady me, she guides me up the front walk to the door.
When we’re at the door, I ask her, "How about some coffee?’’
"No, thanks,’’ she says. "It’s late and I’d better get home.’’
"Sure?’’
"Absolutely.’’
I fumble with the keys, find the lock, and the door swings open to a dark living room. I turn to Stacey and extend my hand.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening,’’ I tell her. "I had a swell time.’’
Then as we’re shaking hands, I for some reason step backwards, trip over the doorstep and lose all my balance.
"Woops!’’
The next thing I know Stacey and I are sprawled on the floor together. Fortunately—or maybe not as it turns out—Stacey thinks this is colossally funny. She’s laughing so hard, tears start to roll down her cheeks. And so I start laughing too. Both of us are rolling on the floor with laughter—when the lights come on.
"You bastard!’’
I look up, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light, and there she is.
"Julie? What are you doing here?’’
Without answering, she’s now stomping through the kitchen. As I get to my feet and stagger after her, the door to the garage opens. The light switch in the garage clicks. I see her in silhouette for half a second.
"Julie! Wait a minute!’’
I hear the garage door rumbling open as I attempt to follow her. As I go into the garage, she’s already getting into her car. The door slams. I zig-zag closer, wildly waving my arms. The engine starts.
"I sit here waiting for you all night, putting up with your mother for six hours,’’ she yells through the rolled-down window, "and you come home drunk with some floozy!’’
"But Stacey isn’t a floozy, she’s—’’
Accelerating to about thirty miles per hours in reverse, Julie backs out of the garage, down the driveway (narrowly missing Stacey’s car) and into the street. I’m left standing there in the light of the garage. The tires of her car chirp upon the asphalt.
She’s gone.

On Saturday morning, I wake up and groan a couple of times. The first groan is from the hangover. The second groan is from the memory of what happened.

When I’m able, I get dressed and venture into the kitchen in quest of coffee. My mother is there.
"You know your wife was here last night,’’ says my mother as I pour my first cup.
So then I find out what happened. Julie showed up just after I called here last night. She had driven over on impulse, because she had missed me and she had wanted to see the kids. She apparently wanted to surprise me, which she did.
Later, I call the Barnett’s number. Ada gives me the routine of "She doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.’’

When I get to the plant on Monday, Fran tells me Stacey has been looking for me since she arrived this morning. I have just settled in behind my desk when Stacey appears at the door.

"Hi. Can we talk?’’ she asks.
"Sure. Come on in,’’ I say.
She seems disturbed about something. She’s avoiding my eyes as she sits down.

I say, "Listen, about Friday night, I’m sorry about what happened when you dropped me off.’’
Stacey says, "It’s okay. Did your wife come back?’’
"Uh, well, no, she didn’t. She’s staying with her parents for a little while,’’ I say.
"Was it just because of me?’’ she asks.
"No, we’ve been having some problems lately.’’
"Al, I still feel kind of responsible,’’ she says. "Look, why don’t I talk to her.’’
"No, you don’t have to do that,’’ I say.
"Really, I think I ought to talk to her,’’ says Stacey. "What’s her number?’’
I finally admit to myself it might be worth a try. So I give the Barnett’s number to Stacey. She writes it down, and promises to call sometime today. Then she continues to sit there.
"Was there something else?’’ I ask.
"I’m afraid there is,’’ she says.
She pauses.
"So what is it?’’
"I don’t think you’re going to like this,’’ she says. "But I’m pretty sure about it...’’
"Stacey,’’ I say.
"What?’’
"The bottlenecks have spread.’’
"What do you mean ‘the bottlenecks have spread’?’’ I ask. "Is there a disease out there or something?’’
"No, what I mean is we have a new bottleneck—or maybe even more than one; I’m not sure yet. Here, let me show you,’’ she says as she comes around the side of the desk with some computer print-outs she’s brought. "These are listings of parts that are queued up at final assembly.’’
She goes over the lists with me. As always, the bottleneck parts are still in short supply. But lately there have been shortages of some
non
bottleneck parts as well.
She says, "Last week we had a case in which we had to build an order for 200 DBD-50’s. Out of 172 different parts, we were missing 17. Only one of them was a red-tagged part. The rest were green tags. The red part came out of heat-treat on Thursday and was ready by Friday morning. But the others are still missing.’’
I lean back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Dammit, what the hell is going on out there? I had assumed the parts that have to go through a bottleneck would reach assembly last. Is there a materials shortage on those green-tagged parts? Some kind of vendor problem?’’ I ask her.
Stacey shakes her head. "No, I haven’t had any problems with purchasing. And none of the parts have any processing by outside contractors. The problem is definitely internal. That’s why I really think we have one or more new bottlenecks.’’ I get up from my desk, walk around the office. "Maybe with the increase in throughput, we’ve loaded the plant to a level that we’ve run out of capacity on some other resources in addition to heat-treat and the NCX-10,’’ Stacey suggests quietly.
I nod. Yes, that sounds like a possibility. With the bottlenecks more productive now, our throughput has gone up and our backlog is declining. But making the bottlenecks more productive has put more demand on the other work centers. If the demand on another work center has gone above one hundred percent, then we’ve created a
new
bottleneck.
Of the ceiling, I ask, "Does this mean we’re going to have to go through the whole process of finding the bottlenecks all over again? Just when it seemed like we were on our way out of this mess....’’
Stacey folds the print-outs.
I tell her, "Okay, look, I want you to find out everything you can—exactly which parts, how many, what products are affected, which routings they’re on, how often they’re missing, all that stuff. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to get hold of Jonah to see what he has to say about all this.’’
After Stacey leaves, and Fran does the calling to locate Jonah, I stand by the window in my office and stare at the lawn while I think. I took it as a good sign that inventory levels had declined after we implemented the new measures to make the bottlenecks more productive. A month ago we were
wading
through parts on the non-bottleneck routings. There were piles and piles, and the piles kept growing. But some of the stocks have dwindled over the past couple of weeks of product assembly. Last week, for the first time since I’ve been at this plant, you could actually walk over to the assembly line without having to turn sideways to squeeze between the stacks and bins of inventory. I thought it was good. But now this happens.
"Mr. Rogo,’’ says Fran through the intercom speaker. "I’ve got him on the line.’’
I pick up the phone. "Jonah? Hi. Listen, we’ve got trouble here.’’
"What’s wrong?’’ he asks.
After I tell him the symptoms, Jonah asks what we’ve done since his visit. So I relate all the history to him—putting Q.C. in front of the bottlenecks, training people to give special care to bottleneck parts, activating the three machines to supplement the NCX-10, the new lunch rules, assigning certain people to work only at the bottlenecks, increasing the batch sizes going into heattreat, implementing the new priority system in the plant. . . .
"New priority system?’’ asks Jonah.
"Right,’’ I say, and then I explain about the red tags and green tags, and how the system works.
Jonah says, "Maybe I’d better come have another look.’’

I’m at home that night when the phone rings.
"Hi,’’ says Julie’s voice when I answer.
"Hi.’’
"I owe you an apology. I’m sorry about what happened on Friday night,’’ she says. "Stacey called me here. Al, I’m really embarrassed. I completely misunderstood.’’

"Yeah, well . . . it seems to me there’s a lot of misunderstanding between us lately,’’ I say.
"All I can say is I’m sorry. I drove down thinking you’d be glad to see me.’’
"I would have been if you’d stayed,’’ I say. "In fact, if I’d known you were coming, I would have come home after work.’’
"I know I should have called,’’ she says, "but I was just in one of those moods.’’
"I guess you shouldn’t have waited for me,’’ I tell her.
She says, "I just kept thinking you’d be home any minute. And the whole time, your mother kept giving me the evil eye. Finally she and the kids went to bed, and about an hour later I fell asleep on the sofa and slept until you came in.’’
"Well... you want to be friends again?’’
I can hear her relief.
"Yes, I would,’’ she says. "When will I see you?’’
I suggest we try Friday all over again. She says she can’t wait that long. We compromise on Wednesday.

D´ ej`a vu. At the airport next morning, I again greet Jonah as he walks out of Gate Two.
By ten o’clock, we’re in the conference room at the plant. Sitting around the table are Lou, Bob, Ralph and Stacey. Jonah paces in front of us.
"Let’s start with some basic questions,’’ he says. "First of all, have you determined exactly which parts are giving you the problem?’’
Stacey, who is sitting at the table with a veritable fortress of paper around her and looking as if she’s ready for a siege, holds up a list.
She says, "Yes, we’ve identified them. In fact, I spent last night tracking them down and double checking the data with what’s on the floor out there. Turns out the problem covers thirty parts.’’
Jonah asks, "Are you sure you released the materials for them?’’
"Oh, yes,’’ says Stacey. "No problem there. They’ve been released according to schedule. But they’re not reaching final assembly. They’re stuck in front of our new bottleneck.’’
"Wait a minute. How do you
know
it’s really a bottleneck?’’ asks Jonah.
She says, "Well, since the parts are held up, I just figured it had to be...’’
"Before we jump to conclusions, let’s invest half an hour to go into the plant so we can find out what’s happening,’’ Jonah says.
So we parade into the plant, and a few minutes later we’re standing in front of a group of milling machines. Off to one side are big stacks of inventory marked with green tags. Stacey stands there and points out the parts that are needed in final assembly. Most of the missing parts are right here and all bear green tags. Bob calls over the foreman, a hefty guy by the name of Jake, and introduces him to Jonah.
"Yeah, all them parts been sittin’ here for about two, three weeks or more,’’ says Jake.
"But we need them now,’’ I say. "How come they’re not being worked on?’’
Jake shrugs his shoulders. "You know which ones you want, we’ll do ’em right now. But that goes against them rules you set up in that there priority system.’’
He points to some other skids of materials nearby.
"You see over there?’’ says Jake. "They all got red tags. We got to do all of ’em before we touch the stuff with green tags. That’s what you told us, right?’’
Uh-huh. It’s becoming clear what’s been happening.
"You mean,’’ says Stacey, "that while the materials with green tags have been building up, you’ve been spending all your time on the parts bound for the bottlenecks.’’
"Yeah, well, most of it,’’ says Jake. "Hey, like we only got so many hours in a day, you know what I mean?’’
"How much of your work is on bottleneck parts?’’ asks Jonah.
"Maybe seventy-five or eighty percent,’’ says Jake. "See, everything that goes to heat-treat or the NCX-10 has to pass through here first. As long as the red parts keep coming—and they haven’t let up one bit since that new system started—we just don’t have the time to work on very many of the green-tag parts.’’
There is a moment of silence. I look from the parts to the machines and back to Jake again.
"What the hell do we do now?’’ asks Donovan in echo to my own thoughts. "Do we switch tags? Make the missing parts red instead of green?’’
I throw up my hands in frustration and say, "I guess the only solution is to expedite.’’
"No, actually, that is not the solution at all,’’ Jonah says, "because if you resort to expediting now, you’ll have to expedite all the time, and the situation will only get worse.’’
"But what else can we do?’’ asks Stacey.
Jonah says, "First, I want us to go look at the bottlenecks, because there is another aspect to the problem.’’
Before we can see the NCX-10, we see the inventory. It’s stacked as high as the biggest forklift can reach. It’s not just a mountain, but a mountain with many peaks. The piles here are even bigger than before we identified the machine as a bottleneck. And tied to every bin, hanging from every pallet of parts is a red tag. Somewhere behind it all, its own hugeness obscured from our view, is the NCX-10.
"How do we get there from here?’’ asks Ralph, looking for a path through the inventory.
"Here, let me show you,’’ says Bob.
And he leads us through the maze of materials until we reach the machine.
Gazing at all the work-in-process around us, Jonah says to us, "You know, I would guess, just from looking at it, that you have at least a month or more of work lined-up here for this machine. And I bet if we went to heat-treat we would find the same situation. Tell me, do you know why you have such a huge pile of inventory here?’’
"Because everyone ahead of this machine is giving first priority to red parts,’’ I suggest.
"Yes, that’s part of the reason,’’ says Jonah. "But why is so much inventory coming through the plant to get stuck here?’’
Nobody answers.
"Okay, I see I’m going to have to explain some of the basic relationships between bottlenecks and non-bottlenecks,’’ says Jonah. Then he looks at me and says, "By the way, do you remember when I told you that a plant in which everyone is working all the time is very
in
efficient? Now you’ll see exactly what I was talking about.’’
Jonah walks over to the nearby Q.C. station and takes a piece of chalk the inspectors use to mark defects on the parts they reject. He kneels down to the concrete floor and points to the NCX-10.
"Here is your bottleneck,’’ he says, "the X-what-ever-it-is machine. We’ll simply call it ‘X.’’’
He writes an X on the floor. Then he gestures to the other machines back down the aisle.
"And feeding parts to X are various non-bottleneck machines and workers,’’ he says. "Because we designated the bottleneck as X, we’ll refer to these non-bottlenecks as ‘Y’ resources. Now, for the sake of simplicity, let’s just consider one non-bottleneck in combination with one bottleneck . . .’’
With the chalk, he writes on the floor: