The Goal

by E M Goldratt

  "Yeah, but you can generally get an idea of what all those are going to be based on experience," I say.

  "But only within a range. Last time, the waiter brought the check in five minutes and 42 seconds. The time before it only took two minutes. And today? Who knows? Could be three, four hours," he says, looking around. "Where the hell is he?"

  "Yeah, but if the chef is doing a banquet and he knows how many people are coming and he knows they're all having om- elets, then he knows how many eggs he's going to need," I say. "Exactly?" asks Jonah. "Suppose he drops one on the floor?" "Okay, so he has a couple extra."

  "Most of the factors critical to running your plant success- fully cannot be determined precisely ahead of time," he says.

  The arm of the waiter comes between us as he puts the to- taled check on the table. I pull it to my side of the table.

  "All right, I agree," I say. "But in the case of a worker doing the same job day in, day out, those fluctuations average out over a period of time. Frankly, I can't see what either one of those two phenomena have to do with anything." Jonah stands up, ready to leave. "I'm not talking about the one or the other alone," he says,

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  "but about the effect of the two of them together. Which is what I want you to think about, because I have to go."

  "You're leaving?" I ask.

  "I have to," he says.

  "Jonah, you can't just run off like this."

  "There are clients waiting for me," he says.

  "Jonah, I don't have time for riddles. I need answers," I tell him.

  He puts his hand on my arm.

  "Alex, if I simply told you what to do, ultimately you would fail. You have to gain the understanding for yourself in order to make the rules work," he says.

  He shakes my hand.

  "Until next time, Alex. Call me when you can tell me what the combination of the two phenomena mean to your plant."

  Then he hurries away. Fuming inside, I flag down the waiter and hand him the check and some money. Without waiting for the change, I follow in the direction of Jonah out to the lobby.

  I claim my overnight bag from the bellhop at the desk where I checked it, and sling it over my shoulder. As I turn, I see Jonah, still without jacket or tie, talking to a handsome man in a blue pinstripe suit over by the doors to the street. They go through the doors together, and I trudge along a few steps behind them. The man leads Jonah to a black limousine waiting at the curb. As they approach, a chauffeur hops out to open the rear door for them.

  I hear the handsome man in the blue pinstripe saying as he gets into the limo behind Jonah, "After the facilities tour, we're scheduled for a meeting with the chairman and several of the board..." Waiting inside for them is a silver-haired man who shakes Jonah's hand. The chauffeur closes the door and returns to the wheel. I can see only the vague silhouettes of their heads behind the dark glass as the big car quietly eases into traffic. I get into a cab. The drivers asks, "Where to, chief?"

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  12

  There is a guy I heard about in UniCo who came home from work one night, walked in, and said, "Hi, honey, I'm home!" And his greeting echoed back to him from the empty rooms of his house. His wife had taken everything: the kids, the dog, the gold- fish, the furniture, the carpets, the appliances, the curtains, the pictures on the wall, the toothpaste, everything. Well, just about everything-actually, she left him two things: his clothes (which were in a heap on the floor of the bedroom by the closet; she had even taken the hangers), and a note written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror which said, "Good-bye, you bastard!"

  As I drive down the street to my house, that kind of vision is running through my mind, and has been periodically since last night. Before I pull into the driveway, I look at the lawn for the telltale signs of tracks left by the wheels of a moving van, but the lawn is unmarred.

  I park the Mazda in front of the garage. On my way inside, I peek through the glass, Julie's Accord is parked inside, and I look at the sky and silently say, "Thank You."

  She's sitting at the kitchen table, her back to me as I come in. I startle her. She stands up right away and turns around. We stare at each other for a second. I can see that the rims of her eyes are red.

  "Hi," I say.

  "What are you doing home?" Julie asks.

  I laugh- not a nice laugh, an exasperated laugh.

  "What am / doing home? I'm looking for you!" I say.

  "Well, here I am. Take a good look," she says, frowning at me.

  "Yeah, right, here you are now," I say. "But what I want to know is where you were last night."

  "I was out," she says.

  "All night?"

  She's prepared for the question.

  "Gee, I'm surprised you even knew I was gone," she says.

  "Come on, Julie, let's cut the crap. I must have called the number here a hundred times last night. I was worried sick about

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  you. I tried it again this morning and nobody answered. So I know you were gone all night," I say, "And, by the way, where were the kids?"

  "They stayed with friends," she says.

  "On a school night?" I ask. "And what about you? Did you stay with a friend?"

  She puts her hands on her hips.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did stay with a friend," she says.

  "Man or woman?"

  Her eyes get hard on me. She takes a step forward.

  "You don't care if I'm home with the kids night after night," she says. "But if I go away for one night, all of a sudden you have to know where I've been, what I've done."

  "I just feel you owe me some explanation," I say.

  "How many times have you been late, or out of town, or who knows where?" she asks.

  "But that's business," I say. "And I always tell you where I've been if you ask. Now I'm asking."

  "There's nothing to tell, " she says. "All that happened was I went out with Jane."

  "Jane?" It takes me a minute to remember her. "You mean your friend from where we used to live? You drove all the way back there?"

  "I just had to talk to someone," she says. "By the time we'd finished talking, I'd had too much to drink to drive home. Any- way, I knew the kids were okay until morning. So I just stayed at Jane's."

  "Okay, but why? How did this come over you all of a sud- den?" I ask her.

  "Come over me? All of a sudden? Alex, you go off and leave me night after night. It's no wonder that I'm lonely. Nothing suddenly came over me. Ever since you got into management, your career has come first and everyone else takes whatever is left."

  "Julie, I've just tried to make a good living for you and the kids," I tell her.

  "Is that all? Then why do you keep taking the promotions?"

  "What am I supposed to do, turn them down?"

  She doesn't answer.

  "Look, I put in the hours because I have to, not because I want to," I tell her.

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  She still doesn't say anything.

  "All right, look: I promise I'll make more time for you and the kids," I say. "Honest, I'll spend more time at home."

  "Al, it's not going to work. Even when you're home, you're at the office. Sometimes I've seen the kids tell you something two or three times before you hear them."

  "It won't be like that when I get out of the jam I'm in right now," I say.

  "Do you hear what you're saying? 'When I get out of the jam I'm in right now.' Do you think it's going to change? You've said all that before, Al. Do you know how many times we've been over this?"

  "Okay, you're right. We have been over it a lot of times. But, right now, there's nothing I can do," I say.

  She looks up at the sky and says, "Your job has always been on the line. Always. So if you're such a marginal employee, why do they keep giving you promotions and more money?"

  I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  "How do I make you understand this," I say. "I'm not up for another promotion or pay raise this time. This time it
's different. Julie, you have no idea what kind of problems I've got at the plant."

  "And you have no idea what it's like here at home," she says.

  I say, "Okay, look, I'd like to spend more time at home, but the problem is getting the time."

  "I don't need all your time," she says. "But I do need some of it, and so do the kids."

  "I know that. But to save this plant, I'm going to have to give it all I've got for the next couple of months."

  "Couldn't you at least come home for dinner most of the time?" she asks. "The evenings are when I miss you the most. All of us do. It's empty around here without you, even with the kids for company."

  "Nice to know I'm wanted. But sometimes I even need the evenings. I just don't have enough time during the day to get to things like paperwork," I say.

  "Why don't you bring the paperwork home," she suggests. "Do it here. If you did that, at least we could see you. And maybe I could even help you with some of it."

  I lean back. "I don't know if I'll be able to concentrate, but... okay, let's try it."

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  She smiles. "You mean it?"

  "Sure, if it doesn't work, we can talk about it," I say. "Deal?"

  "Deal," she says.

  I lean toward her and ask, "Want to seal it with a handshake or a kiss?"

  She comes around the table and sits on my lap and kisses me.

  "You know, I sure missed you last night," I tell her.

  "Did you?" she says. "I really missed you too. I had no idea singles bars could be so depressing."

  "Singles bars?"

  "It was Jane's idea," she says. "Honest."

  I shake my head. "I don't want to hear about it."

  "But Jane showed me some new dance steps," she says. "And maybe this weekend-"

  I give her a squeeze. "If you want to do something this week- end, baby, I'm all yours."

  "Great," she says and whispers in my ear, "You know, it's Friday, so... why don't we start early?"

  She kissed me again.

  And I say, "Julie, I'd really love to, but..."

  "But?"

  "I really should check in at the plant," I say.

  She stands up. "Okay, but promise me you'll hurry home tonight."

  "Promise," I tell her. "Really, it's going to be a great week- end."

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  13

  I open my eyes Saturday morning to see a drab green blur. The blur turns out to be my son, Dave, dressed in his Boy Scout uniform. He is shaking my arm.

  "Davey, what are you doing here?" I ask.

  He says, "Dad, it's seven o'clock!"

  "Seven o'clock? I'm trying to sleep. Aren't you supposed to be watching television or something?"

  "We'll be late," he says.

  "We will be late? For what?"

  "For the overnight hike!" he says. "Remember? You prom- ised me I could volunteer you to go along and help the troop- master."

  I mutter something no Boy Scout should ever hear. But Dave isn't fazed.

  "Come on. Just get in the shower," he says, as he pulls me out of bed. "I packed your gear last night. Everything's in the car already. We just have to get there by eight."

  I manage a last look at Julie, her eyes still shut, and the warm soft mattress as Davey drags me through the door.

  An hour and ten minutes later, my son and I arrive at the edge of some forest. Waiting for us is the troop: fifteen boys out- fitted in caps, neckerchiefs, merit badges, the works.

  Before I have time to say, "Where's the troopmaster?", the other few parents who happen to be lingering with the boys take off in their cars, all pedals to the metal. Looking around, I see that I am the only adult in sight.

  "Our troopmaster couldn't make it," says one of the boys.

  "How come?"

  "He's sick," says another kid next to him.

  "Yeah, his hemorrhoids are acting up," says the first. "So it looks like you're in charge now."

  "What are we supposed to do, Mr. Rogo?" asks the other kid.

  Well, at first I'm a little mad at having all this foisted upon me. But then the idea of having to supervise a bunch of kids doesn't daunt me-after all, I do that every day at the plant. So I gather everyone around. We look at a map and discuss the objec- tives for this expedition into the perilous wilderness before us.

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  The plan, I learn, is for the troop to hike through the forest following a blazed trail to someplace called "Devil's Gulch." There we are to bivouac for the evening. In the morning we are to break camp and make our way back to the point of departure, where Mom and Dad are supposed to be waiting for little Freddy and Johnny and friends to walk out of the woods.

  First, we have to get to Devil's Gulch, which happens to be about ten miles away. So I line up the troop. They've all got their rucksacks on their backs. Map in hand, I put myself at the front of the line in order to lead the way, and off we go.

  The weather is fantastic. The sun is shining through the trees. The skies are blue. It's breezy and the temperature is a little on the cool side, but once we get into the woods, it's just right for walking.

  The trail is easy to follow because there are blazes (splotches of yellow paint) on the tree trunks every 10 yards or so. On either side, the undergrowth is thick. We have to hike in single file.

  I suppose I'm walking at about two miles per hour, which is about how fast the average person walks. At this rate, I think to myself, we should cover ten miles in about five hours. My watch tells me it's almost 8:30 now. Allowing an hour and a half for breaks and for lunch, we should arrive at Devil's Gulch by three o'clock, no sweat.

  After a few minutes, I turn and look back. The column of scouts has spread out to some degree from the close spacing we started with. Instead of a yard or so between boys, there are now larger gaps, some a little larger than others. I keep walking.

  But I look back again after a few hundred yards, and the column is stretched out much farther. And a couple of big gaps have appeared. I can barely see the kid at the end of the line.

  I decide it's better if I'm at the end of the line instead of at the front. That way I know I'll be able to keep an eye on the whole column, and make sure nobody gets left behind. So I wait for the first boy to catch up to me, and I ask him his name.

  "I'm Ron," he says.

  "Ron, I want you to lead the column," I tell him, handing over the map. "Just keep following this trail, and set a moderate pace. Okay?"

  "Right, Mr. Rogo."

  And he sets off at what seems to be a reasonable pace.

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  "Everybody stay behind Ron!" I call back to the others. "No- body passes Ron, because he's got the map. Understand?"

  Everybody nods, waves. Everybody understands.

  I wait by the side of the trail as the troop passes. My son, Davey, goes by talking with a friend who walks close behind him. Now that he's with his buddies, Dave doesn't want to know me. He's too cool for that. Five or six more come along, all of them keeping up without any problems. Then there is a gap, followed by a couple more scouts. After them, another, even larger gap has occurred. I look down the trail. And I see this fat kid. He already looks a little winded. Behind him is the rest of the troop.

  "What's your name?" I ask as the fat kid draws closer.

  "Herbie," says the fat kid.

  "You okay, Herbie?"

  "Oh, sure, Mr. Rogo," says Herbie. "Boy, it's hot out, isn't it?"

  Herbie continues up the trail and the others follow. Some of them look as if they'd like to go faster, but they can't get around Herbie. I fall in behind the last boy. The line stretches out in front of me, and most of the time, unless we're going over a hill or around a sharp bend in the trail, I can see everybody. The column seems to settle into a comfortable rhythm.

  Not that the scenery is boring, but after a while I begin to think about other things. Like Julie, for instance. I really had wanted to spend this weekend with her. But I'd forgotten all about this hiking business with
Dave. "Typical of you," I guess she'd say. I don't know how I'm ever going to get the time I need to spend with her. The only saving grace about this hike is that she ought to understand I have to be with Dave.

  And then there is the conversation I had with Jonah in New York. I haven't had any time to think about that. I'm rather curi- ous to know what a physics teacher is doing riding around in limousines with corporate heavyweights. Nor do I understand what he was trying to make out of those two items he described. I mean, "dependent events"... "statistical fluctuations"-so what? They're both quite mundane.

  Obviously we have dependent events in manufacturing. All it means is that one operation has to be done before a second oper- ation can be performed. Parts are made in a sequence of steps. Machine A has to finish Step One before Worker B can proceed with Step Two. All the parts have to be finished before we can

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  assemble the product. The product has to be assembled before we can ship it. And so on.

  But you find dependent events in any process, and not just those in a factory. Driving a car requires a sequence of dependent events. So does the hike we're taking now. In order to arrive at Devil's Gulch, a trail has to be walked. Up front, Ron has to walk the trail before Davey can walk it. Davey has to walk the trail before Herbie can walk it. In order for me to walk the trail, the boy in front of me has to walk it first. It's a simple case of depen- dent events.

  And statistical fluctuations?

  I look up and notice that the boy in front of me is going a little faster than I have been. He's a few feet farther ahead of me than he was a minute ago. So I take some bigger steps to catch up. Then, for a second, I'm too close to him, so I slow down.