E Goldratt - The Goal

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."

She smiles. "You mean it?"

"Sure, if it doesn't work, we can talk about it," I say. "Deal?"

"Deal," she says.

I lean toward her and ask, "Want to seal it with a handshake or a kiss?"

She comes around the table and sits on my lap and kisses me.

"You know, I sure missed you last night," I tell her.

"Did you?" she says. "I really missed you too. I had no idea singles bars could be so depressing."

"Singles bars?"

"It was Jane's idea," she says. "Honest."

I shake my head. "I don't want to hear about it."

"But Jane showed me some new dance steps," she says. "And maybe this weekend-"

I give her a squeeze. "If you want to do something this week- end, baby, I'm all yours."

"Great," she says and whispers in my ear, "You know, it's Friday, so... why don't we start early?"

She kissed me again.

And I say, "Julie, I'd really love to, but..."

"But?"

"I really should check in at the plant," I say.

She stands up. "Okay, but promise me you'll hurry home tonight."

"Promise," I tell her. "Really, it's going to be a great week- end."

I open my eyes Saturday morning to see a drab green blur. The blur turns out to be my son, Dave, dressed in his Boy Scout uniform. He is shaking my arm.

"Davey, what are you doing here?" I ask.

He says, "Dad, it's seven o'clock!"

"Seven o'clock? I'm trying to sleep. Aren't you supposed to be watching television or something?"

"We'll be late," he says.

"We will be late? For what?"

"For the overnight hike!" he says. "Remember? You prom- ised me I could volunteer you to go along and help the troop- master."

I mutter something no Boy Scout should ever hear. But Dave isn't fazed.

"Come on. Just get in the shower," he says, as he pulls me out of bed. "I packed your gear last night. Everything's in the car already. We just have to get there by eight."

I manage a last look at Julie, her eyes still shut, and the warm soft mattress as Davey drags me through the door.

An hour and ten minutes later, my son and I arrive at the edge of some forest. Waiting for us is the troop: fifteen boys out- fitted in caps, neckerchiefs, merit badges, the works.

Before I have time to say, "Where's the troopmaster?", the other few parents who happen to be lingering with the boys take off in their cars, all pedals to the metal. Looking around, I see that I am the only adult in sight.

"Our troopmaster couldn't make it," says one of the boys.

"How come?"

"He's sick," says another kid next to him.

"Yeah, his hemorrhoids are acting up," says the first. "So it looks like you're in charge now."

"What are we supposed to do, Mr. Rogo?" asks the other kid.

Well, at first I'm a little mad at having all this foisted upon me. But then the idea of having to supervise a bunch of kids doesn't daunt me-after all, I do that every day at the plant. So I gather everyone around. We look at a map and discuss the objec- tives for this expedition into the perilous wilderness before us.

The plan, I learn, is for the troop to hike through the forest following a blazed trail to someplace called "Devil's Gulch." There we are to bivouac for the evening. In the morning we are to break camp and make our way back to the point of departure, where Mom and Dad are supposed to be waiting for little Freddy and Johnny and friends to walk out of the woods.

First, we have to get to Devil's Gulch, which happens to be about ten miles away. So I line up the troop. They've all got their rucksacks on their backs. Map in hand, I put myself at the front of the line in order to lead the way, and off we go.

The weather is fantastic. The sun is shining through the trees. The skies are blue. It's breezy and the temperature is a little on the cool side, but once we get into the woods, it's just right for walking.

The trail is easy to follow because there are blazes (splotches of yellow paint) on the tree trunks every 10 yards or so. On either side, the undergrowth is thick. We have to hike in single file.

I suppose I'm walking at about two miles per hour, which is about how fast the average person walks. At this rate, I think to myself, we should cover ten miles in about five hours. My watch tells me it's almost 8:30 now. Allowing an hour and a half for breaks and for lunch, we should arrive at Devil's Gulch by three o'clock, no sweat.

After a few minutes, I turn and look back. The column of scouts has spread out to some degree from the close spacing we started with. Instead of a yard or so between boys, there are now larger gaps, some a little larger than others. I keep walking.

But I look back again after a few hundred yards, and the column is stretched out much farther. And a couple of big gaps have appeared. I can barely see the kid at the end of the line.

I decide it's better if I'm at the end of the line instead of at the front. That way I know I'll be able to keep an eye on the whole column, and make sure nobody gets left behind. So I wait for the first boy to catch up to me, and I ask him his name.

"I'm Ron," he says.

"Ron, I want you to lead the column," I tell him, handing over the map. "Just keep following this trail, and set a moderate pace. Okay?"

"Right, Mr. Rogo."

And he sets off at what seems to be a reasonable pace.

"Everybody stay behind Ron!" I call back to the others. "No- body passes Ron, because he's got the map. Understand?"

Everybody nods, waves. Everybody understands.

I wait by the side of the trail as the troop passes. My son, Davey, goes by talking with a friend who walks close behind him. Now that he's with his buddies, Dave doesn't want to know me. He's too cool for that. Five or six more come along, all of them keeping up without any problems. Then there is a gap, followed by a couple more scouts. After them, another, even larger gap has occurred. I look down the trail. And I see this fat kid. He already looks a little winded. Behind him is the rest of the troop.

"What's your name?" I ask as the fat kid draws closer.

"Herbie," says the fat kid.

"You okay, Herbie?"

"Oh, sure, Mr. Rogo," says Herbie. "Boy, it's hot out, isn't it?"

Herbie continues up the trail and the others follow. Some of them look as if they'd like to go faster, but they can't get around Herbie. I fall in behind the last boy. The line stretches out in front of me, and most of the time, unless we're going over a hill or around a sharp bend in the trail, I can see everybody. The column seems to settle into a comfortable rhythm.