"... imperative for us to minimize the downside risk..." "... acceptable to our current marketing posture..." "... without reducing strategic expense..."... required sacri- fices..." "... productivity improvements at all loca- tions..."
Graphs from the slide projector begin to flash on the screen. A relentless exchange of measurements between Peach and the others goes on and on. I make an effort, but I just can't concen- trate.
"... first quarter sales down twenty-two percent compared to a year ago..." "... total raw materials' costs in- creased..." "... direct labor ratios of hours applied to hours paid had a three-week high..." "... now if you look at num- bers of hours applied to production versus standard, we're off by over twelve percent on those efficiencies..."
I'm telling myself that I've got to get hold of myself and pay attention. I reach into my jacket to get a pen to take some notes.
"And the answer is clear," Peach is saying. "The future of our business depends upon our ability to increase productivity."
But I can't find a pen. So I reach into my other pocket. And I pull out the cigar. I stare at it. I don't smoke anymore. For a few seconds I'm wondering where the hell this cigar came from.
And then I remember.
31
Two weeks ago, I'm wearing the same suit as now. This is back in the good days when I think that everything will work out. I'm traveling, and I'm between planes at O'Hare. I've got some- time, so I go to one of the airline lounges. Inside, the place is jammed with business types like me. I'm looking for a seat in this place, gazing over the three-piece pinstripes and the women in conservative blazers and so on, when my eye pauses on the yar- mulke worn by the man in the sweater. He's sitting next to a lamp, reading, his book in one hand and his cigar in the other. Next to him there happens to be an empty seat. I make for it. Not until I've almost sat down does it strike me I think I know this
guy. Running into someone you know in the middle of one of the busiest airports in the world carries a shock with it. At first, I'm not sure it's really him. But he looks too much like the physicist I used to know for him to be anyone but Jonah. As I start to sit down, he glances up at me from his book, and I see on his face the same unspoken question: Do I know you?
"Jonah?" I ask him.
"Yes?"
"I'm Alex Rogo. Remember me?"
His face tells me that he doesn't quite.
"I knew you some time ago," I tell him. "I was a student. I got a grant to go and study some of the mathematical models you were working on. Remember? I had a beard back then."
A small flash of recognition finally hits him. "Of course! Yes, I do remember you. 'Alex,' was it?"
"Right."
A waitress asks me if I'd like something to drink. I order a scotch and soda and ask Jonah if he'll join me. He decides he'd better not; he has to leave shortly.
"So how are you these days?" I ask.
"Busy," he says. "Very busy. And you?"
"Same here. I'm on my way to Houston right now," I say. "What about you?"
"New York," says Jonah.
He seems a little bored with this line of chit-chat and looks as if he'd like to finish the conversation. A second of quiet falls be- tween us. But, for better or worse, I have this tendency (which I've never been able to bring under control) of filling silence in a conversation with my own voice.
"Funny, but after all those plans I had back then of going into research, I ended up in business," I say. "I'm a plant man- ager now for UniCo."
Jonah nods. He seems more interested. He takes a puff on his cigar. I keep talking. It doesn't take much to keep me going.
"In fact, that's why I'm on my way to Houston. We belong to a manufacturers' association, and the association invited UniCo to be on a panel to talk about robotics at the annual conference. I got picked by UniCo, because my plant has the most experience with robots."
"I see," says Jonah. "Is this going to be a technical discus- sion?"
"More business oriented than technical," I say. Then I re- member I have something I can show him. "Wait a second..."
I crack open my briefcase on my lap and pull out the ad- vance copy of the program the association sent me.
"Here we are," I say, and read the listing to him. " 'Robotics: Solution to America's Productivity Crisis in the new millenium... a panel of users and experts discusses the coming impact of indus- trial robots on American manufacturing.' '
But when I look back to him, Jonah doesn't seem very im- pressed. I figure, well, he's an academic person; he's not going to understand the business world.
"You say your plant uses robots?" he asks.
"In a couple of departments, yes," I say.
"Have they really increased productivity at your plant?"
"Sure they have," I say. "We had-what?" I scan the ceiling for the figure. "I think it was a thirty-six percent improvement in one area."
"Really... thirty-six percent?" asks Jonah. "So your com- pany is making thirty-six percent more money from your plant just from installing some robots? Incredible."
I can't hold back a smile.
"Well... no," I say. "We all wish it were that easy! But it's a lot more complicated than that. See, it was just in one depart- ment that we had a thirty-six percent improvement."
33
Jonah looks at his cigar, then extinguishes it in the ashtray.
"Then you didn't really increase productivity," he says.
I feel my smile freeze.
"I'm not sure I understand," I say.
Jonah leans forward conspiratorially and says, "Let me ask you something-just between us: Was your plant able to ship even one more product per day as a result of what happened in the department where you installed the robots?"
I mumble, "Well, I'd have to check the numbers..."
"Did you fire anybody?" he asks.
I lean back, looking at him. What the hell does he mean by that?
"You mean did we lay anybody off? Because we installed the robots?" I say. "No, we have an understanding with our union that nobody will be laid off because of productivity improvement. We shifted the people to other jobs. Of course, when there's a business downturn, we lay people off."
"But the robots themselves didn't reduce your plant's people expense," he says.
"No," I admit.
"Then, tell me, did your inventories go down?" asks Jonah.
I chuckle.
"Hey, Jonah, what is this?" I say to him.
"Just tell me," he says. "Did inventories go down?"
"Offhand, I have to say I don't think so. But I'd really have to check the numbers."
"Check your numbers if you'd like," says Jonah. "But if your inventories haven't gone down... and your employee expense was not reduced... and if your company isn't selling more products-which obviously it can't, if you're not shipping more of them-then you can't tell me these robots increased your plant's productivity."
In the pit of my stomach, I'm getting this feeling like you'd probably have if you were in an elevator and the cable snapped.