The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement, Third Revised Edition
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goal."
Between us, the waiter sets down two elegant silver pots with
steam coming out of their spouts. He puts out a pitcher of cream
and pours the coffee. While he does this, I find myself staring
toward the window. After a few seconds, I feel Jonah reach over
and touch my sleeve.
"Here's what's happening," he says. "Out there in the world at large, you've got a market demand for so much of whatever it
is you're producing. And inside your company, you've got so
many resources, each of which has so much capacity, to fill that
demand. Now, before I go on, do you know what I mean by a
'balanced plant'?"
"You mean balancing a production line?" I ask.
He says, "A balanced plant is essentially what every manufac-
turing manager in the whole western world has struggled to
achieve. It's a plant where the capacity of each and every resource
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is balanced exactly with demand from the market. Do you know
why managers try to do this?"
I tell him, "Well, because if we don't have enough capacity,
we're cheating ourselves out of potential throughput. And if we
have more than enough capacity, we're wasting money. We're
missing an opportunity to reduce operational expense."
"Yes, that's exactly what everybody thinks," says Jonah. "And the tendency for most managers is to trim capacity wherever they
can, so no resource is idle, and everybody has something to work
on."
"Yeah, sure, I know what you're talking about," I say. "We
do that at our plant. In fact, it's done at every plant I've ever
seen."
"Do you run a balanced plant?" he asks.
"Well, it's as balanced as we can make it. Of course, we've got
some machines sitting idle, but generally that's just outdated
equipment. As for people, we've trimmed our capacity as much as
we can," I explain. "But nobody ever runs a perfectly balanced
plant."
"Funny, I don't know of any balanced plants either," he says.
"Why do you think it is that nobody after all this time and effort
has ever succeeded in running a balanced plant?"
"I can give you a lot of reasons. The number one reason is
that conditions are always changing on us," I say.
"No, actually that isn't the number one reason," he says.
"Sure it is! Look at the things I have to contend with—my
vendors, for example. We'll be in the middle of a hot order and
discover that the vendor sent us a bad batch of parts. Or look at
all the variables in my work force—absenteeism, people who
don't care about quality, employee turnover, you name it. And
then there's the market itself. The market is always changing. So
it's no wonder we get too much capacity in one area and not
enough in another."
"Alex, the real reason you cannot balance your plant is much
more basic than all of those factors you mentioned. All of those
are relatively minor."
"Minor?"
"The real reason is that the closer you come to a balanced
plant, the closer you are to bankruptcy."
"Come on!" I say. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Look at this obsession with trimming capacity in terms of
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the goal," he says. "When you lay off people, do you increase
sales?"
"No, of course not," I say.
"Do you reduce your inventory?" he asks.
"No, not by cutting people," I say. "What we do by laying off workers is cut our expenses."
"Yes, exactly," Jonah says. "You improve only one measure-
ment, operational expense."
"Isn't that enough?"
"Alex, the goal is not to reduce operational expense by itself.
The goal is not to improve one measurement in isolation. The
goal is to reduce operational expense and reduce inventory while
simultaneously increasing throughput," says Jonah.
"Fine. I agree with that," I say. "But if we reduce expenses, and inventory and throughput stay the same, aren't we better
off?"
"Yes, if you do not increase inventory and/or reduce
throughput," he says.
"Okay, right. But balancing capacity doesn't affect either
one," I say.
"Oh? It doesn't? How do you know that?"
"We just said—"
"I didn't say anything of the sort. I asked you. And you as-
sumed that if you trim capacity to balance with market demand
you won't affect throughput or inventory," he says. "But, in fact, that assumption—which is practically universal in the western
business world—is totally wrong."
"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 fulfill 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 an
d 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. Anyway, 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."
E.M. Goldratt
The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement
Captured by Plamen T.