The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement, page 22
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 theMazda 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.
21
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.
The next morning in the conference room, we’ve got the two supervisors of the bottlenecks with us. By "us,’’ I mean Stacey, Bob, Ralph and me. Ted Spencer is the supervisor responsible for the heat-treat furnaces. He’s an older guy with hair that looks like steel wool and a body like a steel file. We’ve got him and Mario DeMonte, supervisor of the machining center with the NCX-10. Mario is as old as Ted, but plumper.
Stacey and Ralph both have red eyes. Before we sat down, they told me about the work that went into this morning’s meeting.
Getting the list of overdue orders was easy. The computer listed them and sorted them according to lateness. Nothing to it, didn’t even take a minute. But then they had to go over the bills of material for each of the orders and find out which parts are done by the bottlenecks. And they had to establish whether there was inventory to make those parts. That took most of the night.
We all have our own photocopies of a hand-written list Ralph has had prepared. Listed in the print-out is a grand total of sixty seven records, our total backlog of overdue orders. They have been sorted from most-days-past-due to least-days. The worst one, at the top of the list, is an order that is fifty eight days beyond the delivery date promised by marketing. The best are one day late; there are three of those orders.
"We did some checking,’’ says Ralph. "And about ninety percent of the current overdues have parts that flow through one or both of the bottleneck operations. Of those, about eighty five percent are held up at assembly because we’re waiting for those parts to arrive before we can build and ship.’’
"So it’s obvious those parts get first priority,’’ I explain to the two supervisors.
Then Ralph says, "We went ahead and made a list for both heat-treat and the NCX-10 as to which parts they each have to process and in what order—again, the same sequence of latest order to least late. In a day or two we can generate the list by computer and stop burning the midnight oil.’’
"Fantastic, Ralph. I think both you and Stacey have done a super job,’’ I tell him. Then I turn to Ted and Mario. "Now, all you gentlemen have to do is have your foremen start at the top of the list and work their way down.’’
"That sounds easy enough,’’ says Ted. "I think we can handle that.’’
"You know, we may have to go track some of these down,’’ says Mario.
"So you’ll have to do some digging through the inventory,’’ says Stacey. "What’s the problem?’’
Mario frowns and says, "No problem. You just want us to do what’s on this list, right?’’
"Yep, it’s that simple,’’ I say. "I don’t want to see either of you working on something not on that list. If the expeditors give you any problem, tell them to come see me. And be sure you stick to the sequence we’ve given you.’’
Ted and Mario both nod.
I turn to Stacey and say, "You do understand how important it is for the expeditors not to interfere with this priority list, don’t you?’’
Stacey says, "Okay, but you have to promise me you won’t change it because of pressure from marketing.’’
"My word of honor,’’ I tell her. Then I say to Ted and Mario, "In all seriousness, I hope you two guys know that heat-treat and the NCX-10 are the most important processes in the whole plant. How well you manage those two could very well determine whether this plant has a future.’’
"We’ll do our best,’’ says Ted.
"I can assure you that they will,’’ says Bob Donovan.
Right after that meeting, I go down the hall to the personnel relations for a meeting with Mike O’Donnell, the union local president. When I walk in, my personnel manager, Scott Dolin, is gripping the armrests of his chair with white knuckles, while O’Donnell is talking at the top of his voice.
"What’s the problem here?’’ I ask.
"You know very well what the problem is: your new lunch rules in heat-treat and n/c machining,’’ says O’Donnell. "They’re in violation of the contract. I refer you to Section Seven, Paragraph Four...’’
I say, "Okay, wait a minute, Mike. It’s time we gave the union an update on the situation of the plant.’’
For the rest of the morning I describe for him the situation the plant is in. Then I tell him some of what we’ve discovered and explain why the changes are necessary.
Wrapping up, I say, "You understand, don’t you, that it’s probably only going to affect about twenty people at the most?’’
He shakes his head.
"Look, I appreciate you trying to explain all this,’’ he says. "But we got a contract. Now if we look the other way on one thing, what’s to say you won’t start changing whatever else you don’t like?’’
I say, "Mike, in all honesty, I can’t tell you that down the road aways, we won’t need to make other changes. But we’re ultimately talking about jobs. I’m not asking for cuts in wages or concessions on benefits. But I am asking for flexibility. We have to have the leeway necessary to make changes that will allow the plant to make money. Or, very simply, there may not be a plant in a few months.’’
"Sounds like scare tactics to me,’’ he says finally.
"Mike, all I can say is, if you want to wait a couple of months to see if I’m just trying to scare everyone, it’ll be too late.’’
O’Donnell is quiet for a moment.
Finally, he says, "I’ll have to think about it, talk it over and all that. We’ll get back to you.’’
By early afternoon, I can’t stand it anymore. I’m anxious to find out how the new priority system is working. I try calling Bob Donovan, but he’s out in the plant. So I decide to go have a look for myself.
The first place I check is the NCX-10. But when I get to the machine, there’s nobody to ask. Being an automated machine, it runs a lot of the time with nobody tending it. The problem is that when I walk up, the damn thing is just sitting there. It isn’t running and nobody is doing a set-up. I get mad.
I go find Mario.
"Why the hell isn’t that machine working?’’ I ask him. He checks with the foreman. Finally he walks back to me. "We don’t have the materials,’’ he says.
"What do you mean, you don’t have materials,’’ I shout. "What do you call these stacks of steel everywhere?’’
"But you told us to work according to what’s on the list,’’ says Mario.
"You mean you finished all the late parts?’’
"No, they did the first two batches of parts,’’ says Mario. "When they got to the third part on the list, they looked all around and couldn’t find the materials for it in the queue. So we’re shut down until they turn up.’’
I’m ready to strangle him.
"That’s what you wanted us to do, right?’’ says Mario. "You wanted us to do only what was on the list and in the same order as listed, didn’t you? Isn’t that what you said?’’
