More airline stuff: Process Efficiency style

Gosh, this stuff is so easy. A cancelled flight home yesterday offered hours of further opportunity to ponder and investigate the airport and airline conundrum.

Looking around the whole airport experience, there are a plethora of problems that we business school folk like to call “bottlenecks”: situations where the performance of the entire system is limited by the productivity of a specific area.

Most readily complain about the difficulties and delays in check-in and security—but I don’t think expedition here would really make the process go any faster. A quicker check-in process would simply reallocate waiting time elsewhere.

There’s another wait-heavy area about which far fewer complaints are heard: the plane boarding process.

It’s freaking difficult for passengers to embark and disembark the plane in rapid fashion. And the wait time is sneaky because it’s broken down into four parts:

  1. “We will now begin the boarding process. Rows 1-5, you are now welcome to board.” Everyone else waits.
  2. Once on the plane, individual passengers have to file into their seats and stuff their plus-sized luggage into the overhead compartments. Everyone else waits behind them in the center aisle.
  3. Sitting in your seat waiting for the plane to take off.
  4. The sneakiest part: between #1 and 2, the time elapsed waiting in the bridge / extend-o-arm that stretches between airport terminal and airplane. Wait time here typically occurs as a result of backup and overflow from #2.

Plane embarking efficiency is more important than check-in or security because advances here might actually lead to an efficiency improvement in the overall process. If we can turn the planes around faster, we can either increase the number of flights or decrease the time sensitivity (a likely cause of delays and other problems) of each.

The “progressive” airlines like Southwest have implemented a “group” system: If you’re in Group A, you get to board first and can take whichever spot you like—there are no assigned seats. Speed is rewarded, rather than precision.

Seat upgrades are a fake solution: Customers in a hurry can spend an extra $40 or so to board the plane first…and…uh…sit around in the plane for 20 minutes while everyone is doing the same thing, but in the terminal.

How can we get people on and off the plane faster? The true root of the problem is the plane aisle: the aisle is wide enough to accommodate someone walking down the length of the plane, or wide enough for someone to reach up to their overhead bag, but not wide enough to allow two passengers to do both at the same time.

I propose three possible solutions:

1. Eliminate the overhead compartments. I really don’t think these are necessary anymore, if they ever were. It seems obvious that a large portion of boarding delays are due to people like Grandma, who’s packed her son’s Christmas gift (probably an olympic weightlifting set) into her carry-on and can’t quite reach the storage above her frame. She means well, but the negative externalities of her thoughtfulness are adversely affecting everyone else on the flight.

If you’ve been flying recently, you’ll notice that the overhead often reaches capacity, thanks in large part to increased fees for checked luggage. So, remarkably, you’ll have also already noticed that the airlines have a solution for this problem—you can leave your excess overhead on the bridge for some terminal workers to check under the plane, and you can pick it up in the same spot on your way out. This isn’t a perfectly efficient process—surely there are better places to build up crowds of people than in the middle of the highly-trafficked bridge—but the building blocks of the process are already in place.

In fact: the whole, entire checked bags process is already in place! Airports already have entire areas for baggage claim and plenty of complicated luggage trolley systems. By adding baggage fees, the airlines have moved much of the baggage process from the airport, where there’s plenty of excess time capacity (as far as the airlines are concerned), onto the airplane itself, where time is very much of the essence (in spite of how much the airlines try to convey that they just don’t give a damn).

If we (the airline) removed the overhead space and allowed only one carry-on, could we move to smaller, cheaper planes? Could we make the beneath-the-seat spaces bigger? We could surely revoke the policy on charges for the first checked bag. And we could definitely make plane turnaround process time faster (…perhaps while making customer process time longer, which seems like a perfect fit for the airline industry jerks).

2. Also board seats in the chronological order of window-middle-aisle. By far the weakest of my three solutions, but also, the option that might get implemented most quickly and cheaply. Every time an aisle-seat passenger is seated, and has to stand up and get back into the aisle to make room for a window-seat passenger, seconds or minutes are lost for everyone on the plane.

3. Invent a second bridge that runs along the side of the plane on the outside. You couldn’t successfully argue for making the original aisle wider—this would either necessitate wider planes (and more fuel) or fewer passenger seats. All planes are required to have both a front and a rear exit (at least, so I’m told by every single plane welcome video EVER)…but the passage in the back is seldom if ever used. Why?

The airport’s bridge is wide enough to accommodate two streams of traffic. Why doesn’t an airline invent a proprietary, temporary/move-able second bridge that might allow passengers to go directly to the back entryway from the main bridge? You should then be able to board through both doors at once, starting with passengers seated in the middle—the emergency exit rows, which are typically regarded as the luxury seats with bonus legroom, anyway.

What kind of benefits might be reaped by shaving 20 minutes off your turnaround time, every flight? At the cost of what, a few thousand bucks up front to build the thing?

Graphs

A questionable graphic I noticed in my dad’s important-sounding and official-looking magazine:

I already drew on it a little bit (sorry) before realizing this might be an interesting thing to comment on.

Here’s why it’s important to:

  1. Understand your source of information (and its biases)
  2. Understand how graphs work (and can be abused)

The aim of this pair of graphs (and the article) is to show that a particular politician’s economic plan is not working—a point that seems illustrated if you cast a passing glance at these two charts.

But look closely.

The Y-axis (vertical) of the red graph on the right doesn’t start at $0, it starts at $330. If it started at zero, your graph might look more like the pen line I doodled on top.

The Y-axis of the blue graph does start at zero. If it didn’t (to match the original red graph), the blue chart might look more like its respective doodled line.

Corporate profits went up by nearly $1 Trillion, and median weekly earnings went down by roughly $15. Median earnings going down is still not a positive, but clearly, the information presented here has been warped to show a significantly more tragic reality.

Note: I’m no politician, I’m not taking sides, etc., etc. If you’re concerned about the political nature of this content, then you’ve missed the point entirely. Which is, again: Graphs and information can be manipulated. Exercise caution.

ReadWriteWeb

With a little help from my friend David, one of my articles for the Harbus got featured on ReadWriteWeb. I think the Harvard satire element gets lost in translation a little bit, but you guys’ll understand.

I’m thrilled to be published in big places. Thanks, David.

Check it out here.

NFL Timeouts

A quick thought: Why in the world do NFL teams ever call timeouts early on in the game?

Maybe I’m a simpleton. Don’t understand all the intricacies of coaching and playcalling. Whatever.

Ostensibly, a timeout gets called early on when:

  1. Poor clock management by coach / QB
  2. QB reads a lopsided defense, knows his play is going to bust
  3. I don’t know, Subway bought commercial time and needs to sell more sandwiches

Is this really worth burning one of your only three timeouts? You wouldn’t rather, at midfield in the middle of the third quarter, take a 5-yard Delay of Game penalty or burn a play on an incomplete pass?

Again, I could be biased: as a TV viewer, I don’t get to hear what goes on in the huddle or the sidelines. The announcer never says “boy, that was a good play change that the coach implemented during the timeout.”

Watching football, it seems to me that most any game that’s even remotely close will come down to clock management in the final two minutes of the game. And the scales, consistently, are tipped by whichever team has timeouts to spare.

Saving all three until the final two minutes (or so) of the game should be a coaching staple. Your three timeouts are sacred. Why fundamentally cripple your chances to compete late in the game?

I’ve lately been reading (reading! I know, right!?) a fascinating sports/economics/statistics/psychology book, Scorecasting. I’m not going to plagiarize the authors’ ideas here, but thought I’d let you know my thinking has been even more sports-centered than usual for the past few days.

Nike & Jordan

Dear Nike:

Your marketing budget is ginormous. In 2008, Forbes claimed that you dropped around $2 Billion on sponsorships and advertising, combined. And I guess you’ve done some pretty cool stuff.

But things could be SO much better.

Here’s what I propose:

1) Cut the promotional budget relentlessly. Anything that won’t cause an immediate catastrophic disaster, scrap.

2) Call up these guys. Give them all your money. In exchange, you get to change their name from “Royal Jordanian” airlines to “Air Jordan,” you get to wrap the planes with giant MJ photos, and you get to deck the planes out with basketball stuff.

3) ???

4) Profit relentlessly.

Sincerely,
Josh

Two Hundred Posts

Whoa. 200 is a really, really big number.

Important milestones since the last check-in:

 

I guess that doesn’t really leave much room for fun in the next 100, does it? Maybe we’d better pack it in now.

…nah.

Entrepreneurship is Overrated

Here at HBS, we sure do love our Entrepreneurship.

I mean, we really, deeply, unabashedly, lust after it. It’s the dream job. Do whatever you want! No rules! Your own office, your own schedule, everything exactly the way you like it.

There’s all kinds of statistics pointing to our collective interest in the profession (though, rather than actually researching and citing any, just image they exist somewhere in Exhibit 3 towards the end of this newspaper). Harvard has a required course in Entrepreneurship in the Spring semester. The HBS brain trust, in fact, is right now underway inventing new courses under the loose, vague framework of “FIELD” in attempts to pit green RC’s in a real, live entrepreneurship setting (I’m sure you might be able to read more about it, if you dare, in HBS’ intrepid torture system, Learning Hub).

Assuming you didn’t skip the article title like you’re now accustomed to skipping the “Company Background” paragraph in your case studies, I’m going to take the contrarian position here. I think that Entrepreneurship sucks. And as a faithfully sporadic opinion columnist in your weekly newspaper, I felt the burden was on me to clarify some of the many misconceptions about the field.

The sell: You’re your own boss.

The reality: You know what’s great about big, corporate culture? You’ve probably only got one boss. That’s it! Sure, she’s probably an obnoxious bloke who’s invariably more into TPS reports , memos, and cover sheets than concerned about your self-worth. Big deal. I mean, haters are going to hate. Write her behavior off like you know what you’re doing in FRC and go enjoy yourself with the other (x-1) people in your life.

Here’s the weird thing about startup culture: When you’re the company owner, the line starts and ends at you. You’re not your own boss; rather, everyone else you’ve ever met is actually your boss. Supplier got the order wrong? Your problem; you fix it. Sales team can’t get their act together (despite a wonderfully choreographed song and dance routine)? That’s on your shoulders. People fighting, Arthur Moreno’s only working at 103% efficiency, not enough likes and tweets and check-ins? All you. But if Tide suddenly stops selling at Procter & Gamble because somebody’s been brewing three varieties of beer in the vats in the basement? Pfft. I’m just the guy in the Crest toothpaste division.

The sell: Work from wherever you want; work from your desk at home.

The reality: Sorry, I’ve been squatting on Facebook waiting to see if anyone will sell me a last-minute Priscilla ball ticket for cheap because nobody seems to have figured out yet that it’s a horrible idea to buy these things anytime sooner than the last possible minute and there’s bargains to be had. You were saying about getting some work done on an article?

The sell: Make money.

The reality: Hah, seriously?

The sell: Do what you love.

The reality: Half true. To be more precise: “Do the worst part of that thing you love that nobody else is going to peacefully agree to do for you or do even remotely as well as you could do it.

Take, for example, that big idea you’ve got that you want to center your entire life around. Guess what: if it’s not already being done, someone’s already come up with the same exact concept at least a year ago. In fact, the last person who thought of it probably had a way better version than the rather embarrassingly elementary rendering your feeble mind managed to conjure up. The internet is a really, really huge place.

Not to worry, though. There is one thing that may actually separate you from the creepers who breed in the darkest corners of the cloud: You may actually try. You can pound the pavement, make on-the-fly decisions where both options are the wrong answer, sell until your face changes color, invest your own hard-earned money, invest other people’s hard-earned money, ruin someone else’s social life, and even ruin your own.

But honestly, I can’t see why you wouldn’t rather sit back in your ergonomically-designed desk chair, crack a beer you bought on the company’s expense account, and cut your biweekly salary checks that could feed a family of five for three months.

Josh Petersel is an RC in the Class of 2013 at Harvard Business School, and actually was an entrepreneur at one point. This totally makes him a venerable authority on the subject. If you’d like to partner up with him on one of your own stupid business ideas, send him an email at peterselj@gmail.com.

[Note: This article appeared in the Harbus at Harvard Business School the week of October 31st, 2011. You can find the online version here, while it lasts.]

NES Cartridges

[This post was written by my good pal, Peter Wan. More by him here.]

If you were born when I was, you are probably familiar with the Nintendo Entertainment System. It was the oldest of the family consisting of its younger brother, the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, and the toddler of the clan, the Nintendo 64. Its presence in my life is notable; my system traveled with me throughout the majority of my childhood. To be honest, I have the NES version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles running right now (raise your hand if you beat THAT game). Too many of us remember the glow from the flashing blue screen that told us when the cartridge didn’t register properly. We’d robotically remove it from the system, and as if by instinct, blow air on the hardware and plug it back in. In seconds, you’d be rewarded with sweet, sweet relief. Oh, it gets me going just thinking about it.

So what happened to cartridges, anyway? They seem ancient in retrospect. I admit that I had moved onto a PlayStation 2 when it came out, making the switch to DVDs. I have a stack of cases in my TV stand, a library of PS2 games that replaces my bin of NES games. However, I ooze with nostalgia every time I pull out my NES for a sweet session of Mario Bros. Needless to say, the graphics are a long way away from an Xbox 360 or PS3… but why does the NES still give me so much satisfaction? There has to be an explanation for why these cartridges make me happier than any disc could. Soul-searching reveals the following ideas:

1) They’re indestructible. Just throw a game against a wall to make sure. Place one on your carpet and see if it’s still there if a little brother accidentally walks over it. Sit on it, toss it in a box, use it as a coaster at your next party. It’s still ready to go. I can’t explain the frustration that I feel when a friend carelessly grabs a DVD with his hands. God help him if his fingers smear grease on its fragile underbelly. The fact that a game will accumulate scratches or chips and eventually become inoperable drives me crazy. I’ve had to replace games due to wear and tear. Ask me how many times I’ve replaced an NES game.

2) There is no loading. Loading… Loading… Loaded. Sure, I understand that we’ve been able to place an insane amount of data onto a single disc. I know, I love playing games and being blown away by the advances in graphics or the vastness of a virtual landscape. However, there’s something I’ve realized since I’ve re-discovered my NES. If I feel like playing some video games right NOW, it’s there for me. I pop in the game, press power, and it’s THERE. Oh, you just cleared a level? Don’t stare a loading screen, just move ON. I don’t want my gaming experience ruthlessly interrupted by having to wait for data to be loaded, and I shouldn’t be able to make a sandwich in the time it takes for my game to fire up. Super Mario Bros. 3 back in 1988 had NINETY levels, and not once did you have to wait for action to “load”. Chew on that one.

3) No need for cases. Sure, I could have kept my NES cartridges in their wonderful paper boxes; I love my Darkwing Duck artwork. However, when I don’t want to mess with them, I just pluck them out of the platform and stack them up in my drawer. It’s wonderful, it’s hassle-free. When playing my newer systems, it’s like a game of Operation. I scrub up like a surgeon, don my disposable latex gloves, scalpel, tweezers, etc. Taking painstaking effort to ensure its safe delivery (because may God help you if I see a fingerprint or scratch), I have to look for the correct corresponding case. All too often, I’ll stick the disc into the box of the new game I’ve decided to play. Want to hear a secret? Those boxes take up more space than my cartridges.

4) Cartridges are intimate. Before girls, my relationships were with my NES games. I’d spend hours with them, locked in my room. I’d blow them EVERY time before inserting them. And it’d be a special day whenever I’d get to tag team one of these things. You always remember your first love, and mine were cartridges. One last reminder, folks. Please , always remember to pull out.

I know that video games are a business, and I know we’re all excited to see if our programmers have made it so we can see the Gatorade stains on our football players’ jerseys in the next installment of Madden. I know that cartridges are heavier and more expensive to produce. But when will they find a better way to make a video game that is ready for me in seconds and will last me for the rest of my life? Until then, I’ll cross my fingers and knock off some piranha plants with 8-bit fireballs.

Albert Pujols is terrible.

And I can prove it.

In light of all the hooplah surrounding the revolution in baseball statistics (and even well prior to the release of Brad Pitt’s Moneyball), Matt and I have developed a new advanced baseball metric. It’s called Outs Per At Bat.

It’s pretty stupid.

OPAB is a figure designed to gauge how bad a player is. We found it funny that “Grounded into Double Play” (GIDP) is a recorded statistic, and effectively suggests the number of plate appearances in which a batter actually manages to generate two outs, even though he’s just one player.

Key factors weighing in on OPAB:

  1. GIDP. Mentioned above.
  2. Walks. These are considered “Plate Appearances,” not “At Bats,” and as such don’t count adversely towards a player’s score in the category. These are not counted directly, but typically lead to lower AB totals and smaller denominators (one could argue, Plate Appearances – Walks (and other stuff) = At Bats).
  3. Sacrifice Hits (bunts), Sacrifice Flies. These, too, don’t count towards a player’s At Bat total. So, remarkably, the batter generates an out without accumulating an at bat.

We calculate the statistic as follows: (At Bats – Hits + SH + SF + GIDP) / At Bats. Lower scores (IE, fewer outs per at bat) are better.

As it turns out, Cardinals’ centerpiece Albert Pujols is among the league’s worst in OPAB. While leading the league in GIDP’s for the 2011 season, Pujols generated an abysmal .763 OPAB. Eeeugh. In comparison, Cardinals regular guy outfielder/utilityman Allen Craig scored a .735 OPAB on the year. And you don’t see headlines and billion kajdrillion dollar contract deals going his way any time soon.

This year’s leader in OPAB among qualified batters? Jose Reyes stands at .683. In fact, he and Ryan Braun (.689) are the only two players I’ve found thus far (in my admittedly primitive and in all likelihood statistically insignificant research) with OPAB below the .700 mark.

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Update: I realized as of 7:30pm that the stat Caught Stealing ought also apply.

This results in a revised formula of: (At Bats – Hits + SH + SF + GIDP + CS) / At Bats .

As it pertains to the players mentioned above:

Jose Reyes—.696
Ryan Braun—.6998
Allen Craig—.735
Albert Pujols—.765

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In conclusion, baseball is great and basketball sucks.

Stats calculated based off of 2011 season totals, courtesy of fangraphs.com

Dr. Pepper 10

I miss Dr. Pepper Red Fusion.

10 Bold Calories! (…and 20 calories per bottle.)

Begs the following questions:

  1. Who’s responsible for the math here? Douglas Adams? 10 calories per 8 ounces, 20 ounces per bottle, and 20 calories per bottle. Take the remainder, carry the one, and…?
  2. Why are we still allowed to do weird fake crap like suggesting that someone’s only going to drink eight calories from this bottle and save the rest for later? How far can this go? Could I claim and market the fact that Dr. Pepper has 0 calories for every 0 fluid ounce serving?
  3. Most importantly, what’s wrong with the other ten calories? Are they just not that bold? Can I filter out the timid calories? Perhaps they’re less buoyant. I’d hate for them to mingle in and sully up the good ones.