VELOCITY - DEE JACOB [125]
“Yes, well … I understand. Tell me, since you’ve been here for a while, do you notice anything that would help? If you were in my position, is there anything you would do?”
“Me? I don’t understand all of the intricacies of what y’all do here. But … well, one thing I have noticed is that y’all – er, that is, the average person – have fifty things going on at the same time.”
“Oh, tell me about it!” said Sarah. “Fifty things at the same time, that’s conservative.”
“But y’all are trying to do fifty at the same time. Or at least twenty-five.”
“What else can we do?”
“Focus on one at a time.”
“No, that’s impossible,” said Sarah. “I mean, there are fifty!”
“One of those has to be the most important,” said Murphy. “I mean, in the plant, what I tell people is: as soon as work comes your way, get on it, heads down, and get it done. Then do the next thing, and the next.”
“But we don’t have that luxury.”
“Why not?”
“Because there is so much. It’s just overwhelming. And, just using myself as an example, there are so many times when I can’t finish because I’m waiting for someone else to supply something – or I’m just plain interrupted!”
“Interrupted due to something of higher priority? Lower priority?”
“No priority!” exclaimed Sarah. “I’m sure that’s at least part of the problem.”
“Maybe this is just my Southern sensibilities, but if you were in a private conversation, I wouldn’t think of interrupting. Unless, say, the building was on fire – a higher priority. Perhaps you could devise some kind of signal?”
“Possibly. But it’s going to take time.”
“One last humble suggestion from an old factory hand,” said Murphy. “If you were to stagger the workload so that higher priority work is released first every morning or on some kind of time frame, that might help. At Oakton, what we’ll be doing is what’s called ‘gating the materials’ – or putting them onto the plant floor – in the priority that we want them to arrive at Godzilla, and then from Godzilla to the shipping dock. Maybe something like that would work for you, with respect to projects being buffered to the analysts?”
“I don’t know,” said Sarah. “As I said, it’s going to take some time. But thanks, Murph. Have a safe drive back.”
“You’re welcome. See you in a few.”
The following week, Amy flew to Rockville – paying Tom Dawson out of her own pocket – for a day of town hall–style meetings with F&D employees, lending her weight as president to add impact to the changes that had to occur.
In the first meeting, with F&D employees assembled in the auditorium of Building One, Amy stood on the dais looking into the rows of grim, serious faces. There were whispers going on, and comments made behind the cover of raised hands. The rumors, she knew from talking to Sarah, had been whirling all through the buildings, with people claiming crazy things that they knew “for certain” were going to happen – everything from 50 percent across-the-board staff cuts to an announcement that the F&D business had been sold off or that the whole operation was being moved to India or would simply be shut down altogether.
As Amy picked up the microphone, she heard someone in the back rows mutter, “Hold on tight … here we go, down the toilet.”
Amy fought the urge to laugh.
“I think everyone knows who I am,” she said, “so we’ll skip the introductions. What you don’t know is why I am here. I’m aware that there have been all kinds of rumors circulating. So let’s get this out of the way. I am not here to announce layoffs or staff reductions. Nor is F&D being sold or moved or outsourced or any of that. So all of you can breathe a sigh of relief. None of those things are happening today – and hopefully not ever, although I cannot guarantee that. Much depends on what happens in the next three to twelve months, and much of that depends on you.
“All of you know that