The Goal: a process of Ongoing Improvement

parts for those late orders according to the same priority,’’ 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 bottlenecks is needed
for late orders and which is simply going to end 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 problem 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 sunset, 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 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 lawyer,’’ 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 sidewalk, 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 reminds me of a teenager meeting a
boyfriend her parents disapprove 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.’’
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. "I want to know why
you’re doing this!’’
"Because I don’t know if I want to be married to you any more,’’ she says.
"Isn’t that obvious?’’
"Okay, can’t we talk about it?’’
She says nothing.
"Come on,’’ I say. "Let’s take that walk—just once around the block. Unless
you want to give the neighbors lots to talk about.’’
Julie looks around at the houses and realizes we’re a spectacle. Awkwardly,
she steps toward me. I hold out my hand. She doesn’t take it, but we turn
together and begin a stroll down the sidewalk. I wave to the Barnett house
and note the flurry of a curtain. Julie and I walk a hundred feet or so in the
twilight before we say anything. At last I break the silence.
"Look, I’m sorry about what happened that weekend,’’ I tell her. "But what
else could I do? Davey expected me—’’ "It wasn’t because you went on the
hike with Davey,’’ she says. "That was just the last straw. All of a sudden, I
just couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get away.’’
"Julie, why didn’t you at least let me know where you were?’’ "Listen,’’ she
says. "I went away from you so I could be alone.’’
Hesitantly, I ask, "So...do you want a divorce?’’ "I don’t know yet,’’ she
says.
"Well, when will you know?’’
"Al, this has been a very mixed up time for me,’’ she says. "I don’t know
what to do. I can’t decide anything. My mother tells me one thing. My father
tells me something else. My friends tell me something else. Everyone except
me knows what I should do.’’

---

"You went off to be by yourself to make a decision that’s going to affect both
of us as well as our kids. And you’re listening to everyone except the three
other people whose lives are going to be screwed up if you don’t come
back,’’ I say.
"This is something I need to figure out on my own, away from the pressures
of you three.’’
"All I’m suggesting is that we talk about what’s bothering you.’’
She sighs in exasperation and says, "Al, we’ve been over it a million times
already!’’
"Okay, look, just tell me this: are you having an affair?’’ Julie stops. We have
reached the corner.
She says coldly, "I think I’ve gone far enough with you.’’ I stand there for a
moment as she turns and heads back
toward her parents’ house. I catch up with her.
I say, "Well? Are you or aren’t you?’’
"Of course I’m not having an affair!’’ she yells. "Do you think
I’d be staying with my 
parents
if I were having an affair?’’ A man who is
walking his dog turns and stares at us. Julie and I stride past him in stiff
silence.
I whisper to Julie, "I just had to know . . . that’s all.’’ "If you think I’d leave
my children just to go have a fling with some stranger, you have no
understanding of who I am,’’ she says.
I feel as if she’d slapped my face.
"Julie, I’m sorry,’’ I tell her. "That kind of thing sometimes happens, and I
just needed to make sure of what’s going on.’’ She slows her walk. I put my

---

hand on her shoulder. She brushes it off.
"Al, I’ve been unhappy for a long time,’’ she says. "And I’ll tell you
something: I feel guilty about it. I feel as though I don’t have a right to be
unhappy. I just know I am.’’
With irritation, I see we’re back in front of her parents’ house. The walk was
too short. Ada is standing in plain view at the window. Julie and I stop. I lean
against the rear fender of the 
Mazda
.
"Why don’t you pack your things and come home with me,’’ I suggest, but
she’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished the sentence.
"No, I’m not ready to do that,’’ she says.
"Okay, look,’’ I say. "The choice is this: You stay away and we get a divorce.
Or we get back together and struggle to make the marriage work. The longer
you stay away, the more we’re going to drift apart from each other and
toward a divorce. And if we get a divorce, you know what’s going to happen.
We’ve seen it happen over and over to our friends. Do you really want that?
Come on, come home. I promise we can make it better.’’
She shakes her head. "I can’t, Al. I’ve heard too many promises before.’’
I say, "Then you want a divorce?’’
Julie says, "I told you, I don’t know!’’
"Okay,’’ I say finally. "I can’t make up your mind for you.
Maybe it is your decision. All I can say is I want you back. I’m sure that’s
what the kids want too. Give me a call when you know what 
you
want.’’
"That was exactly what I planned to do, Al.’’
I get into the
Mazda
and start the engine. Rolling down the window, I look up
at her as she stands on the sidewalk next to the car.

---

"You know, I do happen to love you,’’ I tell her. This finally melts her. She
comes to the car and leans down. Reaching through the window, I take her
hand for a moment. She kisses me. Then without a word she stands up and
walks away; halfway across the lawn, she breaks into a run. I watch her until
she’s disappeared through the door. Then I shake my head, put the car into
gear, and drive away.

---

21
I’m home by ten o’clock that night. Depressed, but home. Rummaging
through the refrigerator, I attempt to find dinner, but have to settle for cold
spaghetti and some leftover peas. Washing it down with some leftover vodka,
I dine in dejection.
I’m wondering while I’m eating what I’m going to do if Julie doesn’t
come back. If I don’t have a wife, do I start to date women again? Where
would I meet them? I have a sudden vision of myself standing in the bar of
the Bearington Holiday Inn, attempting to be sexy while asking strange
females, "What’s your sign?’’
Is