She sums up, saying, "I think it makes enough sense to risk the changes."
"Although I'm nervous about anything that increases operat- ing 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 com- ment.
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"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 cus- tomers and to division management. We positively must do some- thing 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 pri- ority," 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 bottle- necks is needed for late orders and which is simply going to end
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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 prob- lem 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 sun- set, 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
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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 law- yer," 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 side- walk, 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 re- minds me of a teenager meeting a boyfriend her parents disap- prove 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."
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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.