Business Plans Makes a Profit

08 – 20/06/26

Today, the memory of my first encounter with mansplaining, fourteen years ago, is vivid in my mind.

At the beginning of my career, I was so offended by it that I didn’t even know what had happened or how to react. I didn’t yet know that it was common for a man who didn’t know what he was talking about to explain something to a woman who knew considerably more about the subject than he did.

There is something comforting about the fact that we now have a word for this particular kind of nonsense.

Toward the end of my career, I experienced another incident of mansplaining. This time, I handled it so well that it felt as though I had come full circle. I had become an evolved, enlightened woman.

To this day, I still don’t like either man. I remember the first vividly, while I had almost forgotten the second until writing this. Even so, I have a personal rule that I no longer judge anyone after seven years of no contact. Every seven years we change, willingly or unwillingly.

So, this is what happened.

I walked into my first job interview with my enthusiasm through the roof and a genuine confidence in my knowledge of manufacturing and operations.

The young Emirati interviewer asked me how I would reduce costs in a factory.

I replied that the first place I would look was the factory’s inventory. Inventory is the factory’s gut. This was long before gut health became popularized as the cornerstone of human vitality.

He dismissed my diagnosis and said simply, “Less production, lower costs.”

I changed the subject after that.

As I walked out, I remember thinking, Well then, there seems to be no need for my degree. I might as well throw it into the nearest trash can on my way out.

I avoided that organization ever since.

Of course, he went on to receive promotion after promotion while I am now writing about old grievances from a coffee shop.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m much happier now in a coffee shop than I would be in an office. Been there, done that. Thank you, next.

Working in an office for so many years felt like living inside a riddle I couldn’t solve.

Or perhaps I simply didn’t want to discover that all our collective effort to arrive at “the real world” was merely preparation for performing in corporate theatre.

And corporate theatre is much the same everywhere, so don’t feel too special.

The second incident happened years later at another government entity.

This time, it involved a consultant whom I had met about a year earlier.

The first time we met, he appeared completely out of his depth. He was sweating nervously, shoulders hunched, the folds of his chest resting upon the greater fold of his stomach.

I felt sorry for him.

Then I felt even sorrier for myself because I had to rely on a group that didn’t understand the industry they were regulating.

I was there to serve the people on the ground.

Those same people were probably disappointed in me as well, frustrated by my limited authority and inability to bring about meaningful change.

Because the consultant lacked even the basic vocabulary of the industry, I explained about five essential terms and their definitions to help him orient himself.

Beside him sat his colleague, a quiet Emirati woman who seemed like a gentle young mother.

He copied the definitions eagerly, the way a drowning man grabs hold of a life buoy.

We left the meeting with plans.

To me, they were promises.

A year later, I met the same man and woman again.

There were no meaningful updates.

Instead, with complete confidence, he recited those same definitions back to me as though he were educating me.

I listened without expression until he finished.

The woman smiled politely, the kind of tight smile that quietly acknowledges a shared embarrassment.

I excused myself.

She walked me to the prayer room.

We prayed silently.

Then I left.

That was the moment I gave up hope that meaningful progress would come from that group.

These are old grievances now.

They paved the road that eventually brought me somewhere much better suited to who I am.

The system is man-made, and women like me were never considered in its design.

Today, I am building my own path.

Creating my own systems.

Setting my own priorities.

I don’t know whether this is better.

We’ll see.

The wisest lesson I have internalized so far is this:

I must choose what I want rather than try to change what I don’t want.

I cannot force others to become what they do not wish to become.

I cannot impose my vision upon an unwilling audience.

I cannot assume that I know what is best for the collective.

I can choose what is better for myself.

That alone is a full-time job.

And that is what I am doing.

There is very little explaining involved.

Perhaps government entities are focused on laying greater foundations for us to later imbue with life and community.

Thinking back to that interview question about reducing factory costs, I eventually got the opportunity to answer it for real.

Years later, I found myself managing production.

By default, I also had to lower costs.

Our inventory was an organized mess.

It reflected my own people-pleasing tendencies and my anxious habit of hoarding supplies “just in case.”

If I had simply applied what I learned at university, the answer would have been straightforward: just-in-time production.

But just-in-time production was developed by reliable Japanese manufacturers for highly organized Japanese supply chains built upon trust, cooperation, and consistent, open communication from beginning to end.

I knew logically what needed to be done.

Emotionally, however, I hoped there was another way.

Reducing inventory meant reducing orders.

Reducing orders meant reducing income for the very producers this entire effort was supposed to support.

Real life isn’t nearly as simple as theory.

Following management heuristics without understanding the human reality underneath them often means missing the very heart of operations.

My people are messy.

We love the rush of the last minute.

We don’t communicate well.

We also pursue multiple goals that constantly compete with one another.

Every goal represents another value we want to uphold.

Which one deserves priority?

That depends on the crisis of the day.

What I’m saying is that when I finally had the opportunity, I didn’t do much better than anyone else.

In theory, everything makes sense, just as every business plan makes a profit.