"How do you know it's wrong?"
"For one thing, there is a mathematical proof which could clearly show that when capacity is trimmed exactly to marketing demands, no more and no less, throughput goes down, while inventory goes through the roof," he says. "And because inven- tory goes up, the carrying cost of inventory-which is operational expense-goes up. So it's questionable whether you can even ful- fill the intended reduction in your total operational expense, the one measurement you expected to improve."
"How can that be?"
"Because of the combinations of two phenomena which are found in every plant," he says. "One phenomenon is called 'de- pendent events.' Do you know what I mean by that term? I mean that an event, or a series of events, must take place before an-
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other can begin... the subsequent event depends upon the ones prior to it. You follow?"
"Yeah, sure," I say. "But what's the big deal about that?" "The big deal occurs when dependent events are in combi- nation with another phenomenon called 'statistical fluctuations,'' he says. "Do you know what those are?"
I shrug. "Fluctuations in statistics, right?" "Let me put it this way," he says. "You know that some types of information can be determined precisely. For instance, if we need to know the seating capacity in this restaurant, we can de- termine it precisely by counting the number of chairs at each table."
He points around the room.
"But there are other kinds of information we cannot pre- cisely predict. Like how long it will take the waiter to bring us our check. Or how long it will take the chef to make an omelet. Or how many eggs the kitchen will need today. These types of infor- mation vary from one instance to the next. They are subject to statistical fluctuations."
"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?"
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?"