Chapter 7 #2
“But you didn’t deem it appropriate to push for more interaction?
To force more attention when there were issues?
” I press. In reality, I already know that Beau was one of the proverbial whistle-blowers alerting Pure Fur All of John Wilson’s negligence.
But he doesn’t know that I know this. And I need to know what kind of backbone the guy has.
Beau squares his shoulders. “I pressed for more oversight through every channel available to me. When Mr. Wilson was unresponsive, I ultimately went above his head with my concerns. I take my job and my responsibilities very seriously, and I don’t appreciate any implication otherwise,” he says, a hint of defiance in his tone.
Good.
Nodding my approval, I reward his mettle. “I’d like you to give me a full tour after the all-hands meeting. I have a list of further questions I’d like on-the-ground insight on.”
Beau clears his throat and stands a little taller. “Can do. You’ll need to remove—”
“The coat and tie, and put on a hard hat,” I cut in. This isn’t my first production line rodeo, after all. I don’t want Beau or anyone else thinking I need my hand held while I’m here.
“Yes, sir,” Beau responds just as a wave of people flood into the space.
Eventually, I see Amanda enter and give Beau a nod, seeming to indicate that everyone with the flexibility to leave their stations has arrived.
There are probably seventy-five or so people standing around, so I make my way up a staircase at the side of the room to stand on a platform in order to be clearly seen and heard.
Everyone from janitors to packaging line workers to machinists are gathered, staring at me with varying levels of scrutiny and distrust.
“Thank you for stepping away from your posts for a few minutes, even if it means going back through the hygiene sanitation process before reentering the production floor,” I begin. I notice a few facial expressions shift from open cynicism to veiled curiosity.
Yes, I do my homework. I do whatever needs to be done in order to take control of the situations I walk into.
Even if it means watching boring videos about sanitation processes in pet food production facilities—after all, we can’t have microbes or bacteria being transferred into our beloved pets’ food.
I certainly wouldn’t want any contaminants in Hamlet’s food.
“My name is Liam Park, and I work for the parent company that owns Pure Fur All. I have years of experience assessing and improving the operations of failing companies and facilities, which is what I’m here to do,” I say.
“I’m going to cut to the chase—this is a failing facility.
You’re somehow underperforming and overspending in egregious fashion, and I’m here to find out precisely how that’s been happening.
Then, I’ll make whatever changes are necessary to fix it. ”
People shift nervously on their feet, darting glances at fellow employees. This is the part where people inevitably start to fear for their jobs, their livelihoods. Considering the recent history of the town, I’d wager that fear is amplified to an even higher degree than usual.
“I’m not here looking to axe anyone’s jobs—not without good reason.
If there’s fat, I’ll trim it. But I’m not convinced that’s the issue at hand.
More likely, I think there were several ways that the former plant manager was mismanaging production, and those are probably processes that we can fix.
What I need from each of you is your transparent honesty about how things were run—what you were asked to do or not do, what your daily responsibilities looked like, anything unusual that you noticed.
In return for your honesty, I’ll do my best to optimize this plant’s efficiency without cutting any jobs. Understand?” I ask.
Heads nod, and I make direct eye contact with as many individuals as possible as I sweep my gaze across the room.
I’ve been standing up straight, feet shoulder-width apart, for the beginning of my speech.
Now, I take a second to unbutton my suit coat and lean my hands on the railing in front of me, adopting a slightly more approachable stance.
I need these people to both respect and trust me enough to speak truthfully when I ask questions.
“I’ll be meeting with employees from every department over the next few weeks, shadowing positions and asking questions.
If you have thoughts to share that you think would be beneficial in solving the puzzle here, please feel free to initiate a conversation any time.
Amanda will be able to schedule a meeting on my calendar,” I say.
Did I clear that with Amanda ahead of time? No. But I have no doubt she’ll figure it out, if she’s worth her salt. Her eyes widen with surprise, but she straightens her shoulders and nods as though she was completely prepared for this responsibility.
“Please fill in anyone from your department who couldn’t leave their stations and those who work the other shifts.
An all-company email will be sent out by the end of the day.
Thanks again for taking these few minutes away—now, let’s get back to it,” I end, and the low mumblings of conversation fill the room as people file out.
My list of mental notes lengthens as I observe demeanors and facial expressions, cataloging the people with the most influence who I should prioritize meeting with first.
I pull the reMarkable tablet out of my satchel, ready to take a boatload of notes. Loosening my tie as I turn to Beau, I say, “How ’bout that tour? I don’t want to waste any time.”
After all, I have a productivity competition to win.
And a small town to escape.