Things just aren't supposed to be this way. Six months into a new job - THE dream job - and everything seemed to be falling apart.

"These are the best of times, these are the worst of times," kept running through Sam Stevens head as she left the latest in a string of uncomfortable teleconference meetings with her bosses back at HQ in Chicago.

Samantha Stevens, also known affectionately to her friends- and to her foes, less affectionately - as "Yosemite Sam," was feeling totally out of control for the first time in her career.  And "Friends" were in short supply, these days.

Well, if these are "the best of times," Sam sure didn't see it.  A retired Navy Commander and former Captain of the USS Yosemite - thus her nickname, "Yosemite Sam" - she's used to getting things done, and done the way she wants them.

As a retired Naval officer and former Captain of a ship (one of the first female shipboard Captains in the Navy), she was used to getting her way. It was easy. No questions. No "feedback." No dissecting everything to the nth degree. Just say "Do it" and it got done, with nothing but elbows and rear-ends moving to accomplish the tasks at hand. 

It didn't matter if anyone liked it - I mean, who likes chipping paint, doing mess duty and all those other things that just have to get done to run a tight ship? Someone has to do it.  

I am the Captain of my plant, my facility, my product, my people . . .  MY ship!  No one questions the Captain, after all.  Just get it done!  And it had better be done right the first time!   Business was no different, she thought.

And that is the problem. NOTHING is going right!  Not at work, not at home . . . Not even at Church. . . .    The amount of time spent at work is taking its toll in every aspect of her life.  And it isn't paying off. 

Yosemite Sam's current "ship" is the Cloverdale Cheese Company's plant in Freeport, Illinois.  They are makers of cream cheese and other cheese products.  She is the plant manager.

At work, everyone has questions and wants to analyze everything.  They all have "input," especially all those so-called "black belts," with all their fancy statistical garbage, trying to tell her how to run her "ship" and stirring up trouble with the workers.  Who'd they think they are, anyway? 

She sighed as she wondered, has her "ship" run aground?  Is it sinking?  Can it be saved?  Her thoughts went to the current state of affairs on her "ship." 

Product quality is, well, not what it should be, to put it in the kindest of terms.  The Freeport plant is scrapping out a lot of product. Jams on the conveyor line happen on almost every shift - and often, more than a couple times per shift - which leads to spoiled product. 

Machines are breaking down, especially the concentrators / separators, where the curd and whey are separated from the product.  Those machines are the heart of the operation.  They are old and tired and in need of refurbishment, but there just isn't the money for it.  Maybe next year, was always the answer from the senior execs back at HQ. 

MAYBE!  Yeah, right . . .  And MAYBE I'll sprout wings and fly away with my husband, she thought.

The timing on the fillers and fill weight is out of control. They are giving a lot of product away for free, due to overfilling.  After all, they have to protect the minimum weight of the product.  The accepted norm is that it is always better to give product away for free than to have the FDA breathing down your neck for being too light on product weight.

As if that isn't enough, packaging issues require constant attention by the workers to keep the boxes being filled and sealed properly and to keep the line moving without backups.

Well, you just can't let stuff like that happen with cream cheese and expect good product.  And bad product is scrap product.  No rework, no salvage.  It's all trash - or maybe feed for the local pig farmers - and you have to pay them to haul it away for you.  It made for a lot of happy farmers . . . and fat pigs.  Sam couldn't help but groan at the thought.

Right now, she feels like one of the machines: in need of refurbishment. "Maybe I should have stayed in the Navy," she mused as she was jarred back to the moment by her cell phone.

"Just what I need . . . Probably more ‘good news'" she said out loud as she answered her iPhone. At least that was one of the perks of the job - a new iPhone - or the old "electronic leash," as they used to call cell phones when she was in the Navy.

Ahhh, the Navy . . . . Those were good times.

"Samantha Stevens, Cloverdale Cheese Company, Freeport, Illinois Plant Manager speaking, may I help you?"

Yes, it was formal - and a mouthful - but it's the way she was trained. Old habits - and good ones, too, she believed - die hard. Anyway, it's what she was comfortable with.

"Sam, I just wanted to circle back with you after the meeting." It was her boss, Andrew. His tone didn't sound "friendly."

"I know, I know, Andy. We have got to turn this thing around. I'm open to suggestions."  In Sam's mind, that meant, tell me what to do and I'll get it done.

"Look, Sam . . . We talked after you got off the line, and all I can say is you'd better find a way. The guys on Mahogany Row aren't going to let this thing go much further before they step in . . ."

Andrew let that hang in the air. Dead silence was all he heard.  Everyone at Cloverdale knows what that means. Mahogany Row are the executive offices back in Chicago, where all the big-wigs hung out.  The message is clear.  Someone is going to get fired if things don't change, and change soon. And that "someone" isn't going to be Andrew. He'd put in too much time, sweat, blood and tears to let it all go for nothing, now.

Andrew had hired Sam to take over the plant after things had gone wrong. After firing the old manager, who was into those "touchy feely" things like Lean and Six Sigma, it seemed like a good idea to get a little tighter hand at the helm in Freeport.

Anyway, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Sam knew where this was headed; and it was all on her shoulders.  No "help" from above.  It is sink or swim, and no life vests available.  Well, she'd faced tough challenges before and she'd face this one, too -  alone, as usual - she thought.

Finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, "I hear ya, Andy," is all she could manage to say.  "I'm on top of it."

"I hope so, Sam. I want to see a plan from you by this time next week.  It better have meat and some solid solutions."

"Friday at 9 AM it is, Andy. Can do!"  She ended the call and wondered how she was going to get it done.  "Can do," indeed.

Oh well.  Better check the "metrics."  Cloverdale had recently moved to some new-fangled "save us from ourselves" fad called the Balanced Scorecard and Dashboard.  Another thing sold to Mahogany Row by consultants and software types and they are now being forced down everyone's throats.

"Wish I had that money they spent on this garbage for the line," is all she could think as she pulled up her dashboard and settled in for the "good news" of how the second and third shifts had faired the night before. 

As usual, it was just short of a disaster.  They didn't make their numbers.  They are in the red - AGAIN - but it is recoverable, with maximum effort.  Guess it's up to the first shift to save the day, once again - with overtime. 

She half smirked as she thought about the comments she'd kept hearing from the second and third shift workers, about how they always had to clean up after the first shift messes and mistakes.  No one accepts responsibility for anything around here. 

First shift always made their numbers.  Just another source of tension in the ranks, but that was always the case: shift rivalry made for better "team spirit," it is the essence of competition.  In fact, it's something Sam encourages.  Kind of helps to keep everyone on their toes and striving to excel.  After all, it worked onboard ship in the Navy.  Gold vs. Blue, performers vs. the "non-hackers" in need of motivation, the posting of mistakes for all to see kind of stuff.

Putting on her protective gear and readying herself to go out on the floor and meet with her managers, the weight of it all came crushing down on her.  Yosemite Sam:  A FAILURE!  The thought had never entered her mind, until now.  That is something she would not accept in herself or others: failure.

As her emotions swelled in her gut, she wondered if there was anyone - anyone at all - that she could turn to for just a friendly chat, if nothing else.  A friendly voice . . .   A friend . . .  Someone who would truly understand, who would listen and not judge.  Someone she trusted. 

She trusted her husband, but he wouldn't understand. Jim is too wrapped up in his job as an airline pilot.  That's what you get for marrying a former Top Gun type, she thought. 

Sam loved her husband dearly.  He has that pilot flare and swagger that only a fighter jock can have - and he is a caring and loving man.  No one better for her, or for the kids, but he isn't into making stuff.  He is totally into flying planes. Flying is his second love, after Sam and the kids.  Sam sometimes wondered just how close of a second place it is, but she never doubted that she and the kids always come first in Jim's life.

Though he'd try to understand - he'd always try - manufacturing just isn't his thing.  And anyway, Jim is at 36,000 feet on his way to somewhere in Europe, right now.  "The bus driver of the airways," as he called himself, piloting hundreds of people to far flung locations in his brand new Boeing 787 Dreamliner.  He might not have his hair on fire, going over Mach 1 like he used to do in the fighters, but it is flying, and that was good enough for Jim.

Well, if not her husband, maybe that someone was Fred, her old buddy from the Navy War College.  She hadn't talked with Fred since she'd retired from active duty, more than three years ago.  To be honest, she really hadn't even thought about Fred since then.

Fred is smart, she reasoned, and better yet, he had helped her through some tough studies at the War College back in the day. Talk about challenges, that one was certainly one for the books!   Fred also had more than 20 years working with companies, helping them to improve their performance.  He will know all the latest business fads and quick fix formulas.  He might have a few ideas that she can "benchmark."

Come what may, if nothing else, it will be good to reconnect with her old friend, no matter what.  He always had a way of lifting her spirits, and she needed that right now.  And telling "Sea Stories" about their shared experiences in the Navy was always fun, if not productive.

As she went through the factory door and pushed the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing the solution into her hands, she resolved to give Fred a call later in the day.  Her spirits were lifted just at the thought of talking with her old friend. 

She also resolved that old Yosemite Sam isn't going to be taken down without a fight! 

Alright, she thought, it's "all hands on deck" and rough seas ahead.  She will get the cream-cheese line back in shape . . .  Or heads are going to roll!  If she was going down, she'd take those responsible down with her.  It was just as simple as that.

Just then, the conveyor alarm and andon light went off, blasting its woeful message of another conveyor shutdown - and most likely more lost product, time and effort - for all to hear on the factory floor.  Heads turned and then went back to what they were doing.  It was so commonplace, everyone pretty much ignores it.  Someone else would take care of it.  Situation normal, all fouled up. 

At almost the same time, her iPhone went off with an incoming text from her 15 year old son, wanting to know if he could do something or other.  Not an emergency.  No time for that now.  He'll have to wait - time to focus on the important stuff.

Well, so much for the management team meeting.  Better go find the maintenance guys and find out why they can't do anything right.  Have to get the line back up and running with another one of the maintenance department's instant-band-aid fixes. 

Looks like it is going to be just another day in the salt mines, "babysitting" the people to get the work done and the product out.

She walked past an old quality campaign slogan from her predecessor's days in the plant, hanging on the wall with the words boldly stenciled on a large mirror: "What has this person done to take responsibility for quality today?" 

The message is clear, she thought, but no one around here takes responsibility.  Another quality initiative gone bad, she sighed. 

As she saw her reflection in the mirror, all she could do was to shake her head in disgust.  Adjusting her hair net, she began to move out smartly to find the target of her frustrations and those that she will hold accountable for this mess.  Her first target is the maintenance manager.

At the last second, just before passing the mirror, she gave a sideways glance, looking at her reflection for one last brief moment.  An old saying from her Navy ROTC Senior Instructor came to mind:  "When looking for those responsible, the first step is to take a long look in the mirror."   It had been one of his favorite mottos . . . and one he had lived by.

Seeing her "target" down the aisle, with the usual crowd of onlookers and "helpers" staring up at the disabled conveyor, she shrugged it off.  She set her sights for combat and advanced.