Are Your Lights On?
(How to Know What The Problem Really Is)
Donald C. Gause and Gerald M.Weinberg
Illustrated by: Sally Cox
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Are Your Lights On?
(How to Know What The Problem Really Is)
Copyright © 2011, Donald C. Gause and Gerald M. Weinberg
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Dear Reader: Even with many layers of editing, mistakes can slip through, alas. But, together, we can eradicate the nasty nuisances. If you encounter typos or errors in this book, please send them to us at: <hardpretzel@earthlink.net> Thank you! - Don Gause and Jerry Weinberg
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 2. Peter Pigeonhole Prepares a Petition
Chapter 3. What's Your Problem?
Chapter 4. Billy Brighteyes bests the bidders.
Chapter 5. Billy bites his tongue.
Chapter 6. Billy Back to the Bidders
PART 3: What is the problem, really?
Chapter 9. Landing on the level
Chapter 10. Mind your meaning.
Chapter 11. Smoke gets in your eyes.
Chapter 12. The campus that was all spaced out
Chapter 13. The lights at the end of the tunnel
PART 5: Where does it come from?
Chapter 14. Janet Jaworski joggles a jerk.
Chapter 15. Mister Matczyszyn mends the matter.
Chapter 16. Make-works and take-credits
Chapter 17. Examinations and other puzzles
PART 6: Do we really want to solve it?
Chapter 18. Tom Tireless tinkers with toys.
Chapter 19. Patience plays politics.
Chapter 20. A priority assignment
Dedication
This book is dedicated to our loving wives, one of whom had to put up with us while the other had to put up without us during this relaxation. It isn't clear which of them benefited more by the arrangement.
Preface
PROBLEM: Nobody reads prefaces.
SOLUTION:
Call the preface Chapter 1.
NEW PROBLEM CREATED BY SOLUTION: Chapter 1 is boring.
RESOLUTION: Throw away Chapter 1 and call Chapter 2 Chapter 1.
PART 1 :
PART 1 :
Chapter 1. A Problem
In the heart of Gotham City's financial district stands the glistening new 73-story Brontosaurus Tower. Even though this architectural masterpiece is not yet fully occupied, the elevator service has been found woefully inadequate by the tenants. Some tenants have actually threatened to leave if the service isn't improved, and quickly.
Figure 1. Brontosaurus Tower
A few facts of the case are as follows:
(1) The building primarily houses offices doing business during the weekday hours of 9am to 5pm.
(2) Nearly everyone using the building is associated in some way with the financial world.
(3) The occupants are fairly uniformly distributed over the 73 floors, and so is the elevator traffic.
(4) The owner has invested heavily in advertising in an attempt to rent the remaining office space.
(5) Discouraging words spread like lightning in the tight little world of the financial district.
WHAT IS TO BE DONE ABOUT THIS SITUATION?
A number of ideas spring immediately to mind, such as:
(1) Speed up the elevators.
(2) Add elevators by cutting new shafts through the building.
(3) Add elevators by constructing outside shafts.
(4) Stagger working hours to spread the rush hour load over a longer period.
(5) Move occupants to different floors to reduce total passenger traffic within the building.
(6) Restrict the number of people entering the building.
(7) Replace existing elevators with bigger cars stretching two or three stories.
(8) Provide more services locally on each floor to reduce floor-to-floor traffic.
(9) Reschedule the elevators with special local and express arrangements, as needed.
Having followed our natural problem-solving tendencies, we have rushed right into solutions. Perhaps it would be wiser to ask a few questions before stating answers.
What sorts of questions? Who has the problem? What is the problem? Or, at this juncture, just what is a problem?
Consider the question, "Whose problem is it?" This question attempts to
(1) determine who is the client—that is, who must be made happy
(2) establish some clues that may lead to appropriate solutions.
Our first list of solutions, diverse as they were, all shared a single point of view—that the elevator users were the people with the problem.
Suppose we try taking the point of view of Mr. Diogenes Diplodocus, the landlord. With him as our client, we might develop a rather different list, such as:
(1) Increase the rents, so fewer occupants will be needed to pay off the mortgage.
(2) Convince the occupants that Brontosaurus Tower is a terrific leisurely place to work because of the elevator situation.
(3) Convince the occupants that they need more exercise—which they could get by walking the stairs rather than riding the elevators—by posting walking times and calorie consumption estimates over well- traveled routes.
(4) Burn down the building and collect the fire insurance.
(5) Sue the builder.
(6) Steal elevator time from the next-door neighbor.
These two lists, though not necessarily mutually exclusive, do show somewhat different orientations. This difference should arrest our natural tendency to produce hasty solutions before asking:
WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?
The fledgling problem solver invariably rushes in with solutions before taking time to define the problem being solved. Even experienced solvers, when subjected to social pressure, yield to this demand for haste. When they do, many solutions are found, but not necessarily to the problem at hand. As each person competes for acceptance of a favored solution, each one accuses the other of stubbornness, not of having an alternative point of view.
Not every problem-solving group founders on lack of attention to definition. Some come to grief by endlessly circling around attempted definitions, never amassing the courage to get on with the solution in spite of definitional dangers.
As a practical matter, it is impossible to define natural, day-to-day problems in a single, unique, totally unambiguous fashion. On the other hand, without some common understanding of the problem, a solution will almost invariably be to the wrong problem. Usually, it will be the problem of the person who talks loudest, or most effectively. Or who has the biggest bank account.
For the would-be problem solver, whose problem is to solve the problems of others, the best way to begin is mentally to shift gears from singular to plural—from Problem Solver to Problems Solver, or, if you find that hard to pronounce, to Solver of Problems.
To practice this mental shift, the Solver should, early in the game, try to answer the question:
WHO HAS A PROBLEM?
and then, for each unique answering party, to ask
WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF YOUR PROBLEM?
Figure 1.2. What is the essence of your problem?
Chapter 2. Peter Pigeonhole Prepares a Petition
From the perspective of the office workers, the Brontosaurus problem might be stated as
HOW CAN I COVER MY APPOINTED ROUNDS WITH MINIMUM TIME, EFFORT, AND/OR AGGRAVATION?
For Mr. Diplodocus, the problem may be abstracted to
HOW CAN I DISPOSE OF ALL THESE BLANKETY-BLANK COMPLAINTS?
If these two parties (are there others?) cannot get together, a mutually satisfactory solution seems improbable. Unpleasant as the prospect may be, an effective problems solver must work towards achieving a meeting—if not of minds, then of bodies.
In order to call the landlord's attention to "the problem," a mailboy at Finicky Financial Fiduciary, Peter Pigeonhole, prepares a petition. Using his role as mailboy, he is able to obtain an impressive list of signatures at 3F. Using his class connections with other firms' mailboys, he expands the list.
Peter needs many signatures because a petition is exactly what Diplodocus doesn't want. His problem as he sees it, is to eliminate complaints. If complaints are never recorded, but merely mumbled and grumbled into the air, he may be able to solve his problem by ignoring it. Who knows? This may turn out to be a phantom problem! Therefore, even when faced with four-and-twenty signatures baked into a petition, he does nothing. More precisely, he returns the petition envelope marked REFUSED BY ADDRESSEE.
Trying to discourage a mailboy by refusing a letter is like trying to discourage a capitalist bull by waving a communist red flag. The landlord's solution merely infuriates the office workers. In retaliation, they escalate. (Now there's an idea!)
A large group of representatives pays a call on Mr. Diplodocus, who continues to solve his problem by pretending ignorance. He is, his secretary says, "not in."
If Diplodocus thought this tactic would discourage the petitioners, he was sadly misinformed about the persistence of mailboys in making their appointed rounds. After some discussion of tactics, the group decides to visit Diplodocus at his Scarsdale Estate. To help deliver their message, they bring four picket signs, three stink bombs, and two immigrant workers. Mrs. Diplodocus speaks sharply to Mr. Diplodocus, and it's a phantom problem no longer.
Figure 2.1. Mrs. Diplodocus speaks sharply to Mr. Diplodocus about despoiling their neighborhood.
After a brief meeting with a worker delegation, Diplodocus agrees to hire a consulting firm to look into the problem. In return, the pickets are sent home, which solves his immediate problem with Mrs. Diplodocus.
Time passes. The workers can discern no improvement—and not even a trace of a consultant. Wouldn't you think there would be a few short-haired guys in bowties standing around with clipboards asking questions? At the very least, Diplodocus could have hired his nephew to stand around in a turtleneck with a calculator.
Upon investigation, Peter Pigeonhole discovers that the landlord has not yet gotten around to hiring the consulting firm. Unable to afford daily trips to Scarsdale, the workers decide upon a new tactic.
Using their privileged positions as mailboys, the protest leaders circulate a rumor that if the elevator situation isn't solved soon, the American Congress of Labor is going to organize the entire clerical workforce in Brontosaurus Tower. Until now, the management of each tenant firm hasn't been too concerned with the elevator situation. They arrive early and stay late, or arrive late and leave early. Their secretaries fetch coffee, a caterer produces lunch, and the mailboys "gopher" the mail and other essentials.
Moreover, though Men's and Women's Conveniences are located on alternate floors, each floor has a small, locked, well-appointed restroom whose use is restricted to Executive Gentlemen. (There are no Executive Ladies in Brontosaurus Tower).
Once the ACL organizing rumor starts, it spreads like a muscle spasm in management's lower back. Suddenly there are three parties to the problem, and party three—the management—begins to apply its own brand of persuasion to party two—the landlord.
Up until now, neither party was willing to agree with the other's definition. Or even to listen to it. Now, however, we can discern the signs of progress. When one party begins to feel pain in synchrony with the other, we know that the problem will eventually find its resolution.
The American Indians have a name for this problem-solving technique—it's called "walking in the other person's moccasins." It works especially well when the moccasins are wet rawhide, dried slowly on the other person's feet until sufficient sympathy ("feeling together") is achieved.
We can't predict, at this juncture, just how the problem will achieve its resolution. The tenant's lawyers may abrogate the leases or escrow the rent. The landlord may sell the building at a loss and/or leap out of the 73rd story. New problems may be created by such resolutions, but one thing is now certain: the previous problems are not long for this world.
Out of the multiplicity of diverse outcomes, let's assume that all concerned parties have sufficiently cool heads to attempt to act rationally. The landlord and the lawyers meet to decide upon the nature of the problem. At the last moment, a workers' representative is grudgingly admitted under threat of ACL intervention. After a bit of righteous posturing, all parties recognize the need for more information.
Mr. Diplodocus has mentally discarded all previous complaints, but is unable to construct any particular pattern other than his original impression that the workers were chronic complainers.
The management hasn't really thought about the problem for long, or in much detail. To them, it is a tangential problem, though now quite real, to their direct abhorrence of any form of organized labor.
The workers, for their part, are so obsessed with their desire to "get that SOB landlord" that they have forgotten their original interest in improving the elevator service.
Without wallowing in the messy details, we can report that the meeting resulted in agreement among all parties that
(1)The landlord is unhappy because of the harassment.
(2) The tenant firms are unhappy because of their employees' unhappiness and resultant threats of unionization.
(3) The workers are unhappy because of the way the andlord has ignored their pleas, and because of poor elevator service.
From this perspective, there are now three problems, at least.
Cut in a different direction, the problem still appears threefold:
1. How can we determine "What is wrong?"
2. What is wrong?
3. What can be done about it?
The first part of the question is quickly resolved. Peter Pigeonhole is assigned the job of finding out what is wrong. He will define the problem in a manner acceptable to all parties. For this task, 3F agrees to relieve him of mailroom duties for one month. Such is the reward for taking the initiative—now it's his problem.
Figure 2.1. What Would You Do If You Were In The Moccasins Of Peter Pigeonhole?
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WERE IN THE MOCCASINS OF PETER PIGEONHOLE?
Chapter 3. What's Your Problem?
Perception vs. Desire
Have you ever had a day when things didn't go your way and you found yourself saying, "Boy, have I got problems!"? Most people do, and some do almost every day. The difficulty they feel is a discrepancy between the way things are going and "their way"—the way they should be going, in one person's opinion. It's quite natural to describe this situation by saying, "Boy, have I got problems!"—because a problem is neither more nor less than such a discrepancy.
A PROBLEM IS A DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN THINGS AS DESIRED
AND THINGS AS PERCEIVED.
If you raise your nose from this book and look about you, you can probably list dozens or hundreds of "differences between things desired and things perceived." In fact, why not try it?
Suppose you've just finished a magnificent dinner, settled down in your most comfortable chair, and opened this book to precisely this point in the text. Your sense of well-being is so pervasive that you are unable to think of a single "problem," let alone hundreds. Yet chances are that if you turn up your sensitivity ever so slightly, you might recognize the following discrepancies between perception and desire:
Table 3.1. Perception versus Desire
The first three listed problems will probably be solved by employing the ancient but effective method of "ignoring the problem." This method is neither more nor less than turning down our sensitivity. At some point, we no longer perceive any difference between things as they are and things as we want them to be. Moreover, the problem of the cold house, now that you've recognized it, will most likely be solved by turning up the thermostat or, in these days of "energy crisis," putting on a sweater.
But suppose you look at the thermostat and find the room to be at 25° C (77° F)—quite warm enough for any "normal" person. Do you still have a problem? Definitely YES—so long as the temperature as perceived by you is not the temperature as desired by you. Your seeing the "objective" temperature doesn't help a thing—unless you can convince yourself you're really warm enough after all. In that case, we could consider the problem of warmth to be a phantom problem—a discomfort primarily attributable to perceptions.
Phantom Problems
But don't be misled:
PHANTOM PROBLEMS ARE REAL PROBLEMS.
Faced with a room temperature of 25° C and a feeling of being too cold, you may decide you are "coming down with something." You might go straight to bed, or take a pill or a drink, or both, or make an appointment with your family doctor (for next October).
In any case, the problem, originally formulated as "the house is too cold," now takes another form, such as, "Why am I imagining that the house is too cold?" or "What is wrong with my body?"
"Yes, yes," you're muttering from your worn chair, "but my children are banging on the walls, my feet are killing me, and something's wrong with the furnace. I haven't got a lot of time to waste, but I can't put this book down until I find out what happened to the Brontosaurus Tower Problem. Get on with it! Get on with it!"
Changing Perception
Very well, then, back to Peter Pigeonhole. He's just been reading a book on problem solving—from which he's learned that
A PROBLEM IS A DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN THINGS AS DESIRED
AND THINGS AS PERCEIVED.
Armed with this profound insight (profound to a mailboy, at least) Peter turned back to the Brontosaurus problem. What was desired, he reasoned, was a short wait for the elevators. What was perceived was too long a wait.
Seen in this way, the problem could be solved either by changing desires or changing perceptions. He could alter the perceptions by shortening the actual waiting time, or by making the time seem shorter. And just when he came to this realization, Peter chanced to read about a similar problem in one of his problem-solving books. In this situation, employees were getting injured running down the stairs after work. The problem was solved by putting a mirror on each landing. In their vanity, the employees slowed their relentless charge for the exits, in order to check their appearance and make minor adjustments.
"Perhaps," Peter reasoned, "a similar device would solve our own problem." Peter's employers were happy to hear that he had come up with something, for the mail wasn't being delivered too well in his absence. Mr. Diplodocus was so pleased that it wouldn't cost very much that he immediately agreed to have mirrors installed alongside the elevators on each floor. Sure enough, complaints fell immediately, and Peter was given a large pat on the back, a small raise, and his old desk in the mailroom.
Figure 3.1. The installation of mirrors solved the problem ...
The problem is lack of imagination.
Alas, alas, the grubby world of Gotham City has little in common with the immaculate world of books on problem solving. Before long, the ubiquitous "vandals" discovered that Brontosaurus Tower had more mirrors than Versailles. Within weeks, Peter was put back on special assignment, trying to figure out what to do about graffiti on the mirrors.
Having been addicted to this pernicious vice (reading problem-solving books) by his previous exposure, he was reading another book on problem solving when his new assignment came in. In this treatise, he had learned the concept of trying to find a solution to a problem by "making it worse." "Aha," he saw in a flash, "the problem is not one of graffiti, but of base and unimaginative graffiti. What difference does it make if they slow down to look in the mirror or to look at the graffiti? In either case, they won't notice how slow the elevators are."
Peter now proposed that each floor be supplied with wax crayons (chained to the walls, of course). Everyone could participate in defacing the mirrors, each with his favorite graffito, while waiting for the elevator. Another large pat on the back, another (smaller) raise, and Peter was back in the mailroom savoring his triumph of mind over matter.
I smell a rat.
As all these events were transpiring, time was passing. Almost before anyone noticed it, Brontosaurus Tower attained its first birthday. As the law of Gotham City required, the engineers from Uplift Elevator arrived one morning to make their annual inspection.
As soon as they saw the hordes of workers milling about the lobby, crayons in hand, they sensed a difference between the things they perceived and the things they desired. Their professional pride was at stake, for their company's slogan was
NOBODY
WAITS
FOR
A
LIFT
UP
FROM
UPLIFT
"I smell a rat," one told the other. "Something must be amiss with the controls, for Uplift elevators simply can't cause crowds like this if they're working properly."
Thereupon, the engineers set to work locating the problem. Lo and behold, they discovered that a rat had been trapped in the master control box the day the elevator system was installed. In his futile efforts to gnaw his way out, the dirty rat had clamped down on a master relay with the full force of his tiny jaws. He was rewarded with 240 volts that not only saved him from slow death by starvation, but which also embalmed him and the master relay in a permanently closed position.
It was a simple—though disgusting—job to remove the rat and replace the relay, after which the engineers checked out the system and found it now working to Uplift standards.
At least they've finally solved the problem once and for all.
Before departing until next year's inspection, the engineers paid a call on Mr. Diplodocus. Banging the mummified rat on his desk, they said, haughtily, "If you can't keep your building clean, you could at least get in touch with us when you see the elevators running so slow. Don't you realize you could lose your tenants over such poor service?"
"Well," the landlord lied, "at least you've finally solved the problem once and for all." Having just that morning received a petition from the Brontosaurus chapter of the Legion of Decency complaining about the graffiti, he knew that the previous "solution" was about to collapse right under his feet. But all he would have to do was remove those gosh-darned mirrors.
Diplodocus breathed a sigh of relief and escorted the engineers to the front door. It was almost five o'clock, and he wanted to see how happy the workers would be when they discovered the improved service.
No sooner had the quitting bell sounded than employees began streaming from their offices to the elevators, each hoping to be the first on his floor to get to the crayons. With the properly working elevators, however, people were swept down to the ground floor before they had a chance to write "fiddlesticks". Without the retarded elevators to spread the rush of hundreds of workers over a fifteen or twenty-minute interval, everyone hit the subway entrance at once—far more rapidly than the Interminable Racket Transit could handle.
Figure 3.2. Everyone hit the subway entrance at once.
In the ensuing crush, five people fainted from the heat, seven were hospitalized with heel-holes in their feet, and poor Mr. Diplodocus was shoved down the stairs, right through the ticket gate, and out onto the platform.
Because the subway didn't go to Scarsdale, Diplodocus had never before been inside a subway station. Untrained in the proper elbowing technique, he couldn't defend himself and was jostled off the platform directly into the path of the onrushing Express.
The Diplodocus funeral was well attended by management and workers alike, for, in attempting to solve the elevator problem, they had come to know and respect their landlord, greedy little tyrant though he was. In order to demonstrate that there were no hard feelings concerning their previous differences, Peter Pigeonhole was asked to deliver a eulogy to Mr. Diplodocus on behalf of the occupants of Brontosaurus Tower.