The prevailing - and foolish - attitude is that a good manager

Host: The factory floor stretched like a sleeping beast beneath the dim fluorescent lights — all steel, oil, and echoes. The air smelled of metal dust and burnt coffee. Conveyor belts hummed faintly, their motion slow, almost melancholic, as though mourning the hands that once guided them with care.

At the far end, through a pane of grimy glass, a small office overlooked the machinery — the throne of management.

Jack sat there, his jacket draped over the back of a metal chair, sleeves rolled up, his eyes fixed on the blinking lights of a control panel he barely understood.

Jeeny stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the distant glow of welding sparks below. The machines roared like distant thunder. Between them, on the desk, lay a folded newspaper. A quote circled in pen:

“The prevailing – and foolish – attitude is that a good manager can be a good manager anywhere… A man with a financial background may know nothing about manufacturing shoes or cars, but he's put in charge anyway.” — W. Edwards Deming.

Jack: (smirking) You see that, Jeeny? Deming would’ve hated this place. He’s right though — half the people running this factory wouldn’t know a torque wrench from a toothbrush.

Jeeny: (turning from the window) Maybe. But leadership isn’t always about knowing how things work. Sometimes it’s about knowing why they matter.

Host: The light above them flickered. The shadows stretched long and sharp across the desk, carving lines between them like fault lines in an old argument.

Jack: You’re talking like an HR brochure again. The “why” doesn’t fix a broken line belt. The “why” doesn’t keep workers safe when someone misses a gear inspection. You need to understand the work to lead the people doing it.

Jeeny: Understanding doesn’t always come from doing, Jack. It can come from listening — from trust.

Jack: Trust without knowledge is blindness.

Jeeny: And knowledge without empathy is arrogance.

Host: The air trembled slightly — the hum of the machines rose as though eavesdropping. Jack leaned forward, his hands clasped, his eyes hard like flint.

Jack: You’ve never managed a production line, have you?

Jeeny: No. But I’ve managed people. And I’ve seen what happens when managers act like experts instead of learners — they stop learning altogether.

Jack: You make it sound noble. But it’s not. It’s dangerous. A manager who doesn’t know the process can’t see the risk. That’s how disasters start. Boeing learned that the hard way — finance people running engineering decisions, chasing deadlines over safety.

Jeeny: (softly) And yet, some of those same companies survived because someone at the top had the courage to admit they didn’t understand — and chose to listen instead of pretending to know everything.

Jack: Listening’s easy when the damage is already done.

Jeeny: Then teach them before it happens, Jack. Isn’t that what you’re here for?

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. Outside, a forklift beeped, backing up in slow, rhythmic bursts — the mechanical equivalent of a heartbeat.

Jack: You still think management is just about heart, don’t you?

Jeeny: No. I think it’s about humility. Deming wasn’t just warning us about ignorance. He was warning us about ego — the kind that wears a suit and forgets the dirt on its workers’ hands.

Jack: (quietly) I’ve seen those hands, Jeeny. I used to be one of them.

Jeeny: Then you understand him more than you admit.

Host: The wind outside rattled the windows, carrying with it the low whine of night-shift machinery. The factory felt like a cathedral — sacred in its labor, haunted in its silence.

Jack: When I started on the line, my manager couldn’t even pronounce the name of the part I machined every day. He’d come down once a week, shake hands, talk about quarterly goals, and leave. He thought being present was leadership.

Jeeny: Maybe he didn’t know better.

Jack: That’s the point — he didn’t want to. He thought his MBA made him immune to ignorance.

Jeeny: And you think only the worker knows the truth?

Jack: No. But I think truth starts on the floor, not in the boardroom.

Host: The room filled with a long, heavy pause. The machines seemed to slow in rhythm, as if holding their breath. Jeeny’s eyes softened — she stepped closer, her voice low but unwavering.

Jeeny: You’re right, Jack. But if knowledge begins on the floor, it shouldn’t end there either. The manager who never comes down is blind — but the worker who never looks up stays trapped. Evolution needs both.

Jack: (after a pause) You sound like Deming himself.

Jeeny: Maybe I just believe what he believed — that management is a kind of craft. You can’t fake it, and you can’t automate it. You learn it through mistakes, through respect for the work.

Jack: And through numbers. Let’s not forget that part.

Jeeny: Numbers are footprints. They tell you where you’ve been, not where you’re going.

Jack: (smirking) That’s poetic. But tell that to the shareholders.

Jeeny: I’d rather tell it to the next worker who gets laid off because someone up there thought efficiency was worth more than skill.

Host: The clock ticked louder now — each second a hammer against the walls of their conviction. Jack’s hands rested flat on the desk, palms scarred, roughened by years of labor before he traded gloves for graphs.

Jack: You know, when they promoted me, I thought I’d escaped the grind. But sometimes I think I just moved to a different kind of noise — the noise of people who talk about work instead of doing it.

Jeeny: Then you’re one of the rare ones — the ones who remember both languages.

Jack: Maybe. But memory doesn’t make me understood. You’ve seen the new director, right? Harvard guy. Talks about “cross-industry adaptability.” He thinks managing a bakery is the same as managing a factory.

Jeeny: (half smiling) And you want to prove him wrong.

Jack: I want to prove Deming right.

Host: The lights flickered again, casting the room in half-shadow. It felt as though the factory itself was listening — its engines humming in quiet solidarity.

Jeeny: Maybe the real point isn’t proving anyone right. Maybe it’s teaching them to see — to walk through the noise, the grease, the heat — and realize that management isn’t a title. It’s a relationship.

Jack: Between who?

Jeeny: Between knowledge and humility. Between knowing and learning. Between the person who builds the machine and the one who decides where it should go.

Jack: (after a beat) That’s a lot of “between.”

Jeeny: That’s where life happens, Jack. In the between.

Host: Jack looked down at the quote again, the ink slightly smudged from the humidity. The machines droned on, steady and alive.

Jack: You know something? Maybe Deming wasn’t just talking about managers. Maybe he was talking about all of us. About how we keep thinking we can lead without understanding, live without listening, build without touching.

Jeeny: (softly) And still, somehow, we try. That’s the foolishness that keeps us human.

Host: The night deepened, the rain beginning to fall against the roof, gentle as distant applause.

Jack rose, walked to the window, and looked down at the factory floor — the rhythmic dance of men and machines, each pulse of light a reminder of purpose.

Jack: Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk the line again. Ask the welders what they’d change if they ran this place.

Jeeny: That’s how evolution starts. One question at a time.

Host: The lights dimmed further, leaving only the amber glow of the control board. The factory exhaled, alive in its imperfection — a living testament to the union of skill and thought.

In the stillness, Jack’s reflection met Jeeny’s in the window — two figures caught between logic and heart, both necessary, both incomplete.

And somewhere in that fragile symmetry, wisdom — like a slow, steady machine — began to turn.