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Fix Kit

Fix Kit #6/6: The Suprising Revelation

We Didn’t Change the System. We Changed First.
The culture shifted. The system’s just catching up.

Now we have started implementing S/4, the team is fully on board:

  • Tom Sayer — me, production manager, long-time sceptic, now oddly at peace.
  • Callum Nair — planner, former king of the pre-dawn schedule refresh.
  • Joe Mensah — warehouse lead, forklift whisperer, pallet protector.
  • Erin Patel — support lead, guardian of the Jira queue, fixer of the unfixable.
  • Asha Khan — project manager, policy buffer, team shield, unexpected glue.

But at the moment? We are still running on AS/400. Still clunky. Still allergic to real-time thinking. Still waits until after the shift to reveal it forgot something.

But something else? Something important?

That changed.

I Walked the Floor and Saw… Nothing

No panic. No chaos choreography. No forklifts careening across the floor like they’re in a relay final. No pallet mysteriously parked five metres up to prevent an early grab.

We didn’t stop because the system told us to. We stopped because we weren’t hiding anymore.

It Started Slowly

One planner stopped reissuing the schedule at 5:45 a.m. One supervisor stopped staging parts just in case. One operator stopped “fixing it quietly.”

And me? I stopped meddling with the job list before sunrise. Not because someone made me. Because I didn’t need to anymore.

That was the weird part. Trust crept in like a forklift on soft tyres. Quiet. Steady. Not asking for attention.

We Hadn’t Even Deployed S/4 Yet

The new system? Still in test. Go-live? Somewhere on the calendar behind a few steering meetings.

But the team? We didn’t wait.

We didn’t need dashboards to act like a team. We just needed someone to say:

“Let’s stop pretending this mess is normal.”

And that someone turned out to be all of us. In improv sessions. In awkward silences. In smaller mistakes that didn’t become full-blown escalations.

The config didn’t save us. The choice to work differently did.

I Stopped Fighting the Plan

Yes, AS/400 still ghosted us on stock. Yes, the robot still lost its parking ticket now and then. No, I didn’t suddenly trust the system.

But I trusted Joe to speak up. I trusted Erin to log the issue before it grew teeth. I trusted Callum to publish once and let it hold. And I trusted Asha to back us when we did the right thing instead of the fast thing.

That trust? It didn’t come from training. It came from honesty. From us choosing not to pretend.

What Changed? We Did.

Before S/4. Before EWM. Before a single metrics slide.

We stopped hiding pallets. We stopped stealing from tomorrow’s shift to fix today.

And yeah, I said it aloud:

“If it’s not there, stop the line.”

That was the new rule. And they backed me. Because we realised: Every shortcut is just the first step toward the next failure.

The System’s Still Coming

It’ll be faster. Probably. Cleaner. Hopefully. Smarter. Debatable.

But here’s the bit the rollout slide never says:

If you don’t change how people work before go-live, they’ll drag old habits into the new platform like carry-on baggage.

We didn’t wait. We changed us first. So when the system finally lands? We’re not asking it to rescue us. We’re asking it to catch up.

Real Change Feels… Uneventful

No all-hands meeting. No laminated values statement. No one with a clipboard shouting, “Today we transform!”

Just less noise. Fewer fire drills. More people trusting the process they helped build.

The plan held. The jobs ran. Nobody had to bend reality to meet the deadline.

That’s the Fix Kit, Isn’t It?

It was never the system. It was the space we made to tell the truth. To ask:

“Do we want to keep working like this?”

And when the answer was no? We didn’t wait. We didn’t escalate. We just… changed.

P.S. The real go-live already happened. Not when we cut over. When we stopped hiding. When we started acting like the team the config always assumed we were.

And this time? We finally are.

Fix Kit

Fix Kit #5/6: When the Fix Becomes the Solution

We Fixed the System. Now We Had to Agree What That Meant.
The prototype worked. But we still didn’t know if we’d solved anything.

At InHouse Secure, the S/4 demo system finally runs clean. The simulation doesn’t crash. The chaos doesn’t escalate.

Here’s who’s in the room:

  • Tom Sayer — me, production manager, edge-of-the-floor realist and one-time pallet smuggler.
  • Callum Nair — planning lead, spreadsheet loyalist, fighting to freeze the schedule by lunchtime.
  • Joe Mensah — warehouse operations, king of the quiet shrug and guardian of the racks.
  • Erin Patel — support, ticket wrangler, professional absorber of Friday panic.
  • Priya Desai — master data specialist, logic-seeker and unexpected jokemaker.
  • Charlotte Ibrahim — our CFO, calm, precise, allergic to fluff.
  • Asha Khan — project manager, air-traffic controller for everything from workflows to personalities.
  • And Guy, the consultant who taught us how to breathe through a broken spec.

No fireworks. No applause. No “ta-da” moment. Just a screen. A sandbox. And a test run that didn’t break.

We’d staged a real production kit in S/4. Multiple fixed bins. No errors. No pallet hidden five metres in the air like a squirrel stash.

Here’s the part that stops us: We hadn’t built a single custom enhancement.

It takes time. More than we want to admit. Modelling the real logic. Running it again and again. Tweaking the sequence. Cross-checking it against the way we actually work.

But when it runs clean? The clarity is priceless. Because for the first time, people don’t just say “maybe.” They start to believe: “We can pull this off.”

Third time lucky. But even then — even when the config fits the chaos — something’s still missing.

We Fixed the Flow. But Not the Feeling.

Everyone’s quiet. Not sceptical. Not stunned. Just… waiting.

Because we all know what comes next: The emails. The rollout talk. The assumption that it’ll scale just because it ran once.

We’re not ready. Not yet.

Before anyone can fire off a slide deck, Guy steps in. “Let’s stop. One more session. One question.”

He books another hour.

Same Room. Different Purpose.

This isn’t a post-demo huddle. It’s not classic improv. No riffing. No rapid-fire build. This is something slower. Grounded. More deliberate.

It feels like improv, but what it really is? Group reflection with ensemble thinking.

The kind where everyone speaks. One at a time. Builds gently on what was just said. No corrections. No counters. Just shared momentum.

In the room: Charlotte. Callum. Joe. Erin. Asha. Someone from Finance who survived the audit trail. And me.

Guy opens with: “What would make you say — without hesitation — this worked?”

No smartboards. No KPIs. Just voices. One at a time.

What We Say

Joe: “If I’m not firefighting at 6 a.m. because the sequence changed overnight — that’s a win.”

Callum: “If the published schedule isn’t treated like a placeholder.”

Erin: “If I don’t get six Jira tickets on a Friday tagged URGENT by people who haven’t spoken all week.”

Me: I pause. Then: “If the system tells us something’s missing — and we actually stop.”

They wait. So I go on.

“I know what this sounds like. I’ve spent my whole career keeping the line running. Always. You never stop production unless something’s on fire and nobody’s got the extinguisher.”

They nod. Some smile. Because they know. That’s the rule. Unspoken, enforced by KPIs and caffeine.

“But if we pretend the part is there when it’s not, we feed the same failure again. I’d rather stop for an hour and fix it than steal from the next shift.”

I look at Asha. Then Joe. Then Charlotte.

“This isn’t easy for me to say. But if we want a system that tells the truth, we have to let it. And when it does, that can’t just be my problem. If we want this to work, we stop together. We fix it together.”

Nobody argues. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m carrying it alone.

Then Asha Asks the Quiet Question

“Okay. What would that look like — in real terms?”

The room pauses. Then we build.

The Joke That Sparked the Metrics

Priya (half-joking): “If we go a full month without someone overriding an order in Excel, I’ll buy lunch for the floor.”

We laugh. Then we nod.

And just like that, a metric lands.

Callum: “90% adherence to the frozen schedule. No re-sequencing unless we all agree by 2 p.m. the day before.”

Erin: “Cut ticket volume on plan mismatches by half.”

Me: “If a shortage shows up, we stop. No silent fixes. No sneaky racks. We deal with it in the open.”

Then Guy taps the AI.

How AI Helps Us Think (Not Just Document)

He doesn’t feed it metrics. He feeds it questions:

  • “What would make us feel less burned?”
  • “What patterns trigger escalations?”
  • “What outcomes show we trust the system again?”

It gives us themes. Groups our words. Reflects what we’re all saying — just in different ways.

And it drafts phrasing we can live with. Not legalese. Not fluff. Just clarity.

A one-page “success definition.” No targets yet. Just truth.

What We Leave In (That Might Surprise You)

The core warehouse setup? Stays. Supermarket buffer? Still valid.

But one thing we drop? The five-metre shelf trick.

No more parking pallets out of reach to avoid early grabs. That ends now.

If something’s missing, we stop the line. Deal with it out loud. Fix the cause. Not hide it.

Because stealing from ourselves isn’t clever. It’s how we end up right back here.

And if we say we trust the system? Then we start acting like it.

That Was the Shift

We weren’t removing duct tape. We were choosing which pieces still matter.

What Most Projects Miss

They think go-live is the goal. They assume config running clean means it worked.

But success shows up in what people stop doing:

  • The 5 a.m. override.
  • The whispered “just fix it, don’t log it.”
  • The unspoken rule that says: never stop production.

We didn’t write policy that day. We wrote clarity.

And that made all the difference.

And the Joke?

The one about lunch? Three weeks in. Still no Excel overrides.

We’re hungry. But we’re ready.

P.S.

If your success criteria doesn’t include breathing room… You haven’t finished building yet.

Fix Kit

Fix Kit #4/6: The Joke is On Us

That Time We Fixed SAP by Saying Something Stupid.
The brainstorm didn’t unlock the solution. The joke did.

It starts in the war room at InHouse Secure. And today, the cast is full:

  • Callum Nair, our ever-optimistic production planner, still defending the noon freeze like it’s sacred.
  • Joe Mensah, the warehouse lead, less a man of words and more a wall of quiet logistics judgement.
  • Priya Desai, our master data specialist, the one who notices the missing link while everyone else argues over the chain.
  • Darren Hughes, business analyst, fluent in SAP logs and perfectly timed eyebrow raises.
  • Charlotte Ibrahim, the CFO, who doesn’t speak often, but makes budget sound like final judgement.
  • And yours truly, Tom Sayer, production manager, sceptic-in-chief, and one eye on the floor at all times.

We’d already done the usual. Process flow review. Assumption audit. A stand-up that was just a sit-down with more shrugging. The whiteboard? Same as last year’s, only with dryer pens and more desperation.

The triangle was there — Callum the planner, Joe the warehouse lead, and me, Tom Sayer, the production manager who’d rather be back on the floor than stuck in another alignment death spiral.

But this time, the room’s bigger. Wider cast. Supervisors. Data analysts. Business support. Even someone from procurement who’s clearly wondering what sins landed them here.

And the CFO. Which means we’ve got 20 minutes to do something before it turns into a cost justification.

We’re meant to “unblock the design.” But we’re not designing. We’re re-enacting.

Round and Round Again

Callum kicks us off. Still hopeful. “We need the schedule frozen by noon. Otherwise, the warehouse can’t pick.”

Joe nods once. “If it moves after lunch, we’re staging blind.”

I cross my arms. “We don’t live in a spreadsheet. If a part fails or a machine chokes, I’ll pick the job that gets us moving again. With or without the plan.”

That one hits. Like it always does. Not loud. Just final. Then silence. The kind that doesn’t wait to be filled. It dares you to make it worse.

Enter Guy. Again.

He stands up. Doesn’t reframe. Doesn’t escalate. He wipes the whiteboard clean and says:

“Let’s stop. No more whiteboarding. Let’s try something absurd.”

A few eyebrows raise. One cough tries to hide a laugh.

Then he writes three rules:

  1. Yes, and… everything.
  2. No shooting down ideas.
  3. AI gets a seat at the table — but doesn’t run it.

Then he says: “This isn’t brainstorming. It’s improv. Logistics edition.”

And nobody leaves.

What Improv Looks Like (When You’ve Got Forklifts Outside)

At first? It’s awkward. We’re not performers. We’re operations. We like plans and control and floor markings.

But improv doesn’t ask for control. It asks for momentum.

Someone throws out an idea: “We colour-code the supermarket racks by urgency.”

“Yes, and the robot refuses to deliver yellow pallets after 4 p.m.”

“Yes, and Joe finally gets a button that zaps anyone who stages early.”

It gets silly. Exaggerated. Half-familiar. But under the laughter? There’s truth. Because it’s already happening. Just with more plausible deniability.

Then Something Shifts

Not a joke. Not loud. Just a voice from the far end of the table.

Priya. Master data. Quiet. Sharp. Criminally underutilised.

She says: “Yes, and… what if we stop trying to make ECC work and look at S/4 instead?”

Silence. Not resistance. Shock.

We’ve been neck-deep in Classic WM tweaks. No one’s dared touch the S/4 question.

Guy doesn’t blink. He turns to the AI console and types:

Prompt: “How would supermarket replenishment with multiple fixed bins per material work in SAP S/4?”

AI reply: “SAP S/4HANA with Extended Warehouse Management (EWM) does not enforce the ‘one fixed bin per material’ restriction found in Classic WM. EWM supports multiple bin assignments, slotting strategies, and real-time location control — making it ideal for dynamic staging and decentralised buffers.”

Then Darren, our business analyst, leans forward. “We could rent an S/4 system. Try it out. See if it holds up.”

And the CFO — calm, deadpan, dangerous with a spreadsheet — says: “Yes, and we’ve got the budget. Better than guessing.”

That breaks it. Not the silence. The cycle.

The Joke That Wasn’t

No roadmap. No pitch. No alignment matrix. Just one idea, said out loud, at the wrong time — which turned out to be exactly the right one.

Guy closes his laptop. “I can spin it up. I’ll need test data and staging logic from three or four of you.”

No resistance. Just nods. Then, CFO again: “Approved. Make it happen.”

From improv to implementation in under ten minutes. No slide deck. No drama. Just permission.

Why It Worked (When Nothing Else Did)

Improv doesn’t give you the answer. It makes space for the answer to land.

No rebuttals. No corrections. No committees.

Just one idea, yes-and-ed into clarity.

And once you hear it? You can’t unhear it.

The Loop Broke Before the Config Did

Nobody announced a decision. Nobody wrote a Jira ticket.

But the energy shifted. We weren’t pretending anymore. We were admitting it didn’t fit.

And instead of blaming ourselves for not fitting the system… We gave ourselves permission to try something else.

What Most Brainstorms Miss

They chase realism. They ask for consensus. They wrap fear in post-it notes.

Improv doesn’t need you to agree. It just needs you to build. And if the room’s ready? Someone walks through the door you didn’t know was locked.

This time, they did.

That Joke? It Wasn’t a Joke

It was oxygen.

And maybe — finally — a fix that fits us, not just the config.

It wasn’t elegant. It was honest. And that’s rarer.

Afterwards, I Ask Guy

“Did you know? That EWM could solve our ECC mess?”

He doesn’t lie. “I had a suspicion. I held it back. I wanted the room to land it first. Priya nudged the door. AI confirmed. That’s better than me saying it.”

He smiles. “If it hadn’t? I’d have said it. But it’s more powerful when it comes from the people who live it.”

He’s right. We didn’t whiteboard a fix. We made space for one to surface.

P.S. The smartest idea in that room? It wasn’t in the plan. It was the one that made us laugh first. Then build.

Fix Kit

Fix Kit #3/6: Running in Circles

We’ve Solved This Before. That’s the Problem.
When every meeting feels like déjà vu with cleaner fonts.

We’re back in the room at InHouse Secure. Callum Nair, our ever-hopeful production planner, has the flipchart. Joe Mensah, warehouse lead and veteran of too many failed rollouts, stands with his arms folded. And me, Tom Sayer — production manager, local sceptic, and unofficial translator of SAP-to-reality — I’m already bracing for the rerun.

Same triangle. Same markers. Same post-its curling at the edges. This one’s branded a “solutioning session,” which is what we now call meetings where nobody wants to say “we’re stuck again.”

And I know it won’t work. Not because the idea’s wrong. Because I’ve seen this loop. Twice. Only real difference? The fonts look nicer this time.

Let Me Translate the Room

Callum, the planner: “We’ve published the schedule. If you followed it, we’d stay on track.” Joe, warehouse: “We can’t keep chasing changes at 6 a.m. If it’s not frozen, don’t expect us to stage it.” Me: “I follow what’s realistic. Not what someone guessed two days ago.”

That lands. Not because I raise my voice. But because it’s true. Everyone knows it. No one says it. And I’m still running the floor. Which means I’m still not following the plan.

No One Asks Why

We just walked the warehouse the week before. Found pallets five metres up. Hiding. Like secrets in shrink wrap.

So we know something’s broken. But instead of asking why we’re hiding things, We try to make it prettier.

That’s when Guy steps in. “Assumption audit,” he says. And we all start writing what we think is true:

  • Users resist change.
  • The supermarket is essential.
  • Production follows the frozen plan.
  • Finance needs that extra approval step.
  • The warehouse can’t pre-stage without a lock.

Then he pulls out what he calls “a few quiet patterns.” From transcripts. From walks. From logs we haven’t touched since the last upgrade.

What He Shares

  • Users resist change? Nope. Mindstorming says they’re actively adjusting. Taking parts off racks because they expect gaps.
  • Supermarket is essential? Some critical components bypass it. Held back. Manually fed in when things start looking thin.
  • Production follows the frozen plan? Check the system. Sequencing changes daily. Execution doesn’t match what’s posted.
  • Warehouse can’t pre-stage without a lock? They do. Quietly. Based on patterns.
  • Finance needs that approval step? It clears automatically. Every time. No rejections in over a year.

None of this is shocking. But written down? It’s a mirror.

And it stings.

And Still — Nobody Moves

Because this isn’t a config issue. It’s a trust issue. And I’m stuck in the middle.

Misunderstood (Not Misaligned)

I know what they think: That I’m stubborn. That I override for fun. That I refuse to fall in line.

But they don’t see what I see:

  • When a critical job fails mid-shift.
  • When a batch goes missing and everyone acts like it didn’t.
  • When the line stops and no one upstairs notices until escalation number three.

I don’t ignore the plan for sport. I change it because I have to.

The alternative? We miss targets. Burn hours. Fail quietly. And I’m the one who gets the call.

Planner Thinks I’m Undisciplined.

Warehouse Thinks I’m the Problem.

But I’m Just Closer to the Fire.

Doesn’t make me right. Just makes me real. And that’s the bit this project never seems to grasp.

They want me predictable. But first? Understand why I keep moving.

Why the Last Two Rollouts Failed

Attempt One: Roll out the ECC template. Classic WM. Standard config.

Issue? One fixed bin per material. That’s tidy on paper. But our stuff moves. Fast. Frequently. Some components need to be in five places at once in the supermarket. The system couldn’t cope.

Project stalled. We documented it. Shelved it. Moved on.

Attempt Two: Customise. Enhance Classic WM. Multiple bins. Extra logic. Subroutines. But every patch created a new edge case.

The system never got stable. And no one could promise it wouldn’t fall apart at volume.

Eventually, someone asked the only honest question in the room: “Do you really want to go live with this?”

We didn’t. Because we were trying to make SAP pretend we were standard. And we’re not.

The Loop Reboots a Week Later

Warehouse preps the line. I change the job. Stock’s missing. Errors fire. Trust collapses.

And here we are. Same room. Same loop. Different post-its.

What Most Projects Miss

They think agreement is alignment. They treat a working config like a working relationship. They tiptoe around the real problem — then build around it.

But a polished config is no match for an unwritten rule.

I’m Not the Villain.

But I am the Variable.

Nobody asked what I’m solving for. They think I resist structure. I respond to risk.

Then Someone Jokes

Half a laugh. “What if we just…?”

Not in the plan. Not in the agenda. Not even said seriously.

But we hear it. And for the first time in years? We don’t bat it away.

We follow it.

And something cracks open.

Decades of looping. Same assumptions. Same half-truths. Same disguised dysfunction.

That joke? Wasn’t a joke. It was a permission slip.

And maybe — finally — the start of something real.

P.S. You can’t system your way out of a decision made under pressure. But you can start by naming the pressure.

Fix Kit

Fix Kit #2/6: Why the System is Broken

They Were Hiding Pallets From Us. And I Didn’t Even Know.
Turns out, the workaround behind the workaround was five metres off the ground.

It starts like a walk. Not a tour. Not an audit. Just a walk.

Guy calls it “getting his bearings.”

No clipboard. No checklist. No awkward pause where someone asks, “Should we be wearing safety goggles?”

Just quiet. And eyes that see more than they say.

I tag along halfway through the shift. Not because he asks me. Because I’m nosy. Because I want to know what he’s really looking for.

I’ve done my Mindstorming session. Said my piece. Thought I’d dumped enough truth into his AI-driven confessional box.

Turns out, I’m wrong.

The Warehouse Feels… Off

Same forklifts. Same racks. Same AS/400 interfaces humming like neglected vending machines.

But something’s different. Not the warehouse. Me.

Walking the floor with someone who doesn’t know where to look? It makes you see what you’ve stopped noticing.

I start talking. Filling the silence. Explaining things I assume he needs explained.

“That’s the supermarket buffer — it sits between the robot and the production line. Makes up for the fact the robot’s clever but picks like it’s nursing a hangover.”

He raises an eyebrow.

I double down. “It saves us a ton of space. But I wouldn’t be shocked if it forms a union and demands hazard pay.”

He half-smirks. Keeps walking.

Then he looks up.

Top shelf. Left bay. A half-open pallet. Way up.

“Why’s that one up there?” he asks.

I blink. Because I don’t know. I know it’s important stock. But I’ve never thought to ask why it’s parked in the clouds.

Before I can make something up, Joe walks by. Warehouse manager. Built like a brick wall. Says five words a day and each one matters.

He doesn’t break stride. Doesn’t even pause.

“If we leave it down low,” he says, “they’ll just take it before we’ve scanned it.”

And he’s gone.

That Hits Harder Than It Should

Take it. Not request it. Not issue a Kanban. Not raise a requisition.

Just… take.

Not out of malice. Out of necessity.

The line’s running. The part’s there. Someone grabs it. Because stopping the line isn’t an option.

And this? This is the countermeasure.

Put it out of reach. Out of sight. Only bring it down when the system says it’s time.

That’s not process. That’s survival.

And in that moment, I realise: We’re not optimising anything.

We’re hiding from our own habits. And losing.

The Workaround Behind the Workaround

Officially, the process looks like this:

  • Components are pulled from the robotic store (AS/400)
  • They’re placed in the supermarket buffer
  • Production pulls them using Kanban
  • Stock gets updated (eventually)

Reality?

  • High-risk parts don’t go straight into the supermarket
  • They go up top. Unlogged. Untouched.
  • When the buffer drops to dangerously low levels, the good stuff gets lowered in

It’s not in the flowchart. But it’s gospel.

And no one talks about it. Not because it’s a secret. Because it’s normal.

The System’s Not Broken. It’s Blind.

AS/400 doesn’t track the top shelf. Our diagrams still say “Kanban replenishment.”

But the floor says: “Keep the good stuff where the operators can’t get cheeky.”

Why? Because if they take it early, the warehouse gets the blame.

Not sabotage. Just human. Just tired trust.

Didn’t Come Up in Mindstorming

Nobody mentions it. Not the planner. Not Joe. Not me.

Because we forget it’s a workaround. It became furniture. Invisible.

And suddenly? We’re designing solutions around fiction.

This Isn’t Config. It’s Culture.

The system isn’t failing. It’s just being lied to.

Not deliberately. Out of habit.

It thinks everything’s staged. Doesn’t know half the parts are in stealth mode on aisle 17.

We built a lie. And we called it process.

Trust? Long Gone.

  • Warehouse doesn’t trust production to wait
  • Production doesn’t trust stock to be right
  • Nobody trusts that raising a hand won’t backfire

So they improvise. Until the improvisation becomes ritual. And the ritual becomes a blind spot.

That Walk Wakes Me Up

It’s not about pallets. It’s about what I missed.

I thought I knew our chaos. Turns out, I only knew the version people admitted to.

And now I’m wondering: What else is five metres up and out of sight?

The Fix? It Changes.

Not because we discover something new. But because we finally see what’s there.

That pallet? It’s not the problem. It’s the mirror.

And Here’s the Bit I Can’t Shake

If we hadn’t walked that day… If Guy hadn’t asked that one quiet question…

We’d have built another perfect rollout. On top of a lie.

Unintended. But still a lie.

Next? We get everyone in the room. We draw the diagram. And the minute we think we’re aligned… We find the loop again.

Because the real blocker? Isn’t a config bug. It’s a human habit no one’s named.

P.S. If your fix doesn’t match what people actually do — It’s not a fix. It’s a fantasy with cleaner font.

Fix Kit

Fix Kit #1/6: The Quiet Fix

Mindstorming with Guy
He said, “Let’s not fix it just yet.” I almost walked out.

My name is Tom Sayer — the Production Manager at InHouse Secure. The one who keeps the plant breathing.

This isn’t a blog about fixing SAP. It’s what happens before the fixing. Before the specs. Before someone decides which flavour of governance gets ignored this time.

I’m the one who’s seen two rollouts crash. Still keeps the line moving with a system that thinks “robotic warehouse” is a polite suggestion. I open the plant at 5:30 a.m. like clockwork. I don’t run meetings. I run production. Which means when the system says “delivered” and the shelf says “empty,” I get the call.

And then Guy turns up.

He walks in. Doesn’t touch the whiteboard. Doesn’t even glance at the Gantt chart someone stuck to the glass like it’s scripture.

Just says:

“Let’s not fix it just yet.”

I almost laugh. Or swear. Or leave. Maybe all three. Because I know what that line means. I’ve heard it before. It’s code for: nothing happens for the next fortnight except meetings, muffins, and metaphors.

I’ve seen SAP rollouts flatline. Twice. Here at HQ, the trauma’s so baked in, you can smell it in the server room. First attempt? Classic WM buckles under the weight of real-life process. Second go? They try to paper over the cracks with custom code and a wing and a prayer. Doesn’t work.

Now it’s Guy. No last name. No pitch deck. No laptop. No lanyard. Just a battered notebook and a face that looks like it’s seen too many go-lives go sideways.

Instead of jumping into another fake sprint, he says:

“We’re starting with conversations.”

Which I hear as: we’re stalling until someone higher up gives me permission to do something real.

I brace for Same Stuff, New Day.

The brief—as I understand it—is clear. Migrate us off the AS/400 antique and onto the SAP ECC template all the other sites have already swallowed. Worked for everyone, or they make you believe it does.

Problem is, we’re not “everyone else.”

We’ve got a robotic warehouse built for storage density, not speed. Sounds clever till you need something urgently and the robot takes the scenic route.

We are forced to introduce a supermarket buffer zone that acts more like a panic room. And a production schedule that changes more often than our WiFi password.

And we’ve got people.

Good people. Survivors. The kind that keep things running with duct tape, goodwill, and the occasional bribe to the forklift driver.

You try telling me to freeze the production plan at noon for the day ahead. Good luck with that.

Enter: Mindstorming

He skips the group meetings. Books one-on-ones. Like a GP doing patient rounds.

No agendas. No slide decks. Just sits with people. Quietly. One by one.

When it’s my turn, he sits across from me in a side office that smells like burnt coffee and marker pens.

Pulls out his phone.

“Hope you don’t mind — I’m recording this.”

I give him a look. The one that says, this isn’t a confession booth, mate.

He nods like he’s heard it before.

“AI will do the transcription,” he says. “Means I can actually listen, not just pretend while I write down buzzwords.”

I shrug. Fair enough.

Still feels odd knowing a bot’s going to have a copy of this. But it means he’ll be listening. For real. So I lean back. And I talk.

What I give him

He doesn’t want the org chart. Doesn’t ask for a swimlane.

He asks:

  • What do you do when the system can’t keep up?
  • What’s something you shouldn’t be doing—but do anyway?
  • When things break, who do you call before logging the ticket?

Then he shuts up.

Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t steer.

Just listens. Properly. Like he means it.

Something shifts.

Feels less like an interview. More like a pub chat after a shift. Honest. No posturing. No pitch.

I tell him why we don’t follow the plan. Why we don’t trust the robot. Why we load the supermarket like we’re expecting a storm.

We’re not solving anything. But we’re finally seeing something.

The weirdest bit?

He doesn’t react.

No smart replies. No empathetic coaching lines.

Just:

“That helps. Thank you.”

Then he leaves.

No feedback. No idea if what I’ve said is revelatory or just background noise.

Leaves me wondering: Have I just said something obvious? Or something no one else dared say out loud?

What Mindstorming actually does

It doesn’t fix anything. Doesn’t hand me a shiny new roadmap.

But it does something subtler.

It breaks the reflex.

That one where we try to make things sound like they’re working. Where we pretend we fit the template. Where we keep saying “nearly there” while the floor tells a different story.

It doesn’t change the system.

It changes me.

Few days later

I’m walking the floor.

Not because I’m checking. Because something’s nagging at me.

That conversation left a kind of silence. A new one. Not awkward. Just… awake.

So I start watching differently.

Not for errors. For ghosts. For workarounds. For the bits that don’t exist on the blueprint.

And I find them.

Little moves. Extra steps. The logic under the logic.

Stuff that’s kept the site alive.

Not because it was sanctioned. Because it worked.

That’s what Mindstorming does.

Not to collect every flaw. Just enough pause that we start to notice what we stopped seeing.

Next? We find something no one mentioned. Not because they’re hiding it. But because it’s become normal.

P.S. Ever tried explaining your process and realised you left half of it out?

This one’s for you.

Even if the missing bit is five metres up and stashed on a rack with no label.

Wiz, the AI Mentor

DAY 9: From Haunted Code to Clean Core

For the Ghostbusters of Legacy Systems

👻 Over-customization isn’t clever — it builds a haunted castle of untouchable code.

🧟 Legacy customizations never truly die — zombie programs stagger on long after their purpose.

🧪 All those patches aren’t a badge of honor — they turn you into Dr. Frankenstein with a laptop.

🧹 Clean Core isn’t just a technical strategy — it’s a cultural reset (a rebellion against complexity).

🌟 S/4HANA migration isn’t just an upgrade — it’s a once-in-a-generation chance to start fresh.

Read more “DAY 9: From Haunted Code to Clean Core” →
Wiz, the AI Mentor

DAY 8: From Billboard to Beacon

🪧 Sounding like a “walking billboard” isn’t your only option — being clear and real works better.

🙊 Not everyone will applaud your honesty — and that’s exactly the point.

🚫 Repelling the wrong clients isn’t a drawback — it’s a time-saving filter.

🔁 Hype doesn’t build trust — consistency and honesty do.

🤝 You don’t need everyone to like you — just the people who actually need you.

Read more “DAY 8: From Billboard to Beacon” →
Artificial Intelligence

How AI Frees Consultants to Focus on What Matters

📦 AI reduces documentation time, giving consultants more hours with real users.

🧠 Great requirements aren’t in workshops—they’re found by watching people work.

🛠️ The Universal AI Prompt automates prep work and flags process gaps.

🕵️ Talking to end users reveals hidden needs no workshop ever will.

🚀 AI doesn’t replace consultants—it lets them focus on what truly matters.

Read more “How AI Frees Consultants to Focus on What Matters” →
Wiz, the AI Mentor

DAY 7: Confessions of an SAP Misfit

For the Square Pegs in Round Holes

🔍 Caring deeply about end users often gets mistaken for stepping out of line.

🧱 Being the one who takes ownership can isolate you from the crowd.

🧭 Your personality isn’t a problem — unless you’re in the wrong environment.

🎭 You can either fit in by shrinking, or stand out by showing up fully.

🚪 Misfits aren’t broken — they’re just wired for work that hasn’t been invented yet.

Read more “DAY 7: Confessions of an SAP Misfit” →