Two shops, six barbers, a Saturday wall of walk-ins. Stella picks up every call in the shop's own register, books into each barber's real chair at each shop, reminds, and fills the gap when someone doesn't show.
Union Barbers, this is Stella — what can I do for you?
You don't need a receptionist in each shop. You need someone who knows every chair in both, knows the regulars, and never asks a caller to hold.
A regular, recognised by his number, greeted like a regular. No place name, no ceremony — straight to the chair.
The universal six, and two that matter when half your book is regulars and the other half is walk-ins.
No menus, no “press one”, no hold music, no disclaimer wall. Place, first name, how can I help — in one breath. Then she listens instead of interrogating. And she's there at 7:40 in the morning and 9 at night — when the parent thinks of it, not when you open.
She searches actual availability — who is where, doing what, for how long, in which chair or room — and never double-books. If she offers 2:20, 2:20 is free.
Reminders go out ahead of time. When someone can't make it, she handles the flustered call with warmth and finds the next time without drama.
A cancelled four o'clock is the one slot you can't sell tomorrow. The moment it frees, she offers it — by text — to the people who've said they'd take short notice, who wanted earlier, or who owe a make-up. First yes takes it; nobody else hears about it.
A four o'clock cancels? She asks the five o'clock if they'd like to come earlier. Nobody is obliged, and it cascades — you finish at five, not six.
Someone turns down a 9am; she stops leading with mornings for them. Preferences, never rules — and when she checks, she uses very few words.
Recognised number, no ceremony. She knows Marcus wants Dre, wants a cut and line-up, and never wants mornings. The more she knows you, the shorter the call.
Barbers who float between locations have hours per shop, not one blob. If Dre's full downtown and Kev's free at Northside, she'll say so — and let the caller decide.
She takes the cancellation the moment it comes, whatever the hour — nobody waits for the desk to open. Runway is money: the earlier she knows, the more people she can offer the slot to once your outbound hours open, and the likelier it fills. Your policy — notice period, deposit, fee — is yours; she states it plainly, applies it the same way every time, and stays kind about it.
Everyone on the short-notice list asked to be on it. Nobody is nagged; nobody hears another client's business.
Power out, a barber off sick, the shop shut for a fit-out day — the whole block moves, and it's your call, not the client's. You say it once; she works out who's affected, offers each regular the right alternative in their own words, waives the fee, logs the reason, and reports back. When it's a delay rather than a closure she works by who can still act: the regulars who haven't left home yet get the text and the choice; the ones already on the sofa get the real wait and a coffee; nobody further out is touched unless it keeps slipping. Nobody hears why; nobody rings the shop.
Power's out downtown. Move this afternoon to Northside where you can, the rest to tomorrow, and text everyone.
Availability is per barber, per shop, per hour. When the caller's usual chair is booked out, Stella offers the other shop as a plain trade — never a bare time without the place.
The shop should sound like the shop. Not like a bank.
A screen by the mirror shows who's next and what changed. A rep selling clipper oil never gets through. A regular who wants Dre gets Dre.
Two shops on one panel each — every barber sees their own day, and the owner sees both.
No “press one”. No “your call is important to us”. No recorded disclaimers before a human word. Warm, short, present — and she says what she is if you ask.
She offers what's in your catalogue and staff profiles. She won't crown a “best” anyone or promise an outcome. A time she offers is a time that's free.
A moved client hears “we need to move your Tuesday — let me find you another time.” Never who, never why. And once moved kindly, they're not yo-yo'd back.
She doesn't lead with it and doesn't apologise for it. Ask, and she'll tell you plainly: she's the assistant. She helps; that's what people remember.
Per seat — a person Stella books — counted from her own book each month. Nothing to declare, nothing to meter, no percentage of your takings. Month to month, no contract.
She picks up, day and night, and takes care of the appointment someone is calling or texting about.
Everything in Answer, plus everything she starts — on her own inside your outbound hours, or on one sentence from you.
Six barbers on Answer: $234 a month. A seat is a person with ten or more appointments on their name that month. Under ten they're free — stand-ins, part-timers and holiday cover cost nothing; the receptionist, the rooms and the owner-as-admin don't count at all. No contract: you stay because it works. Price for life: your rates are locked the moment you start — we may raise prices for new customers, yours never change, and moving between the two lines keeps your locked rates for both. Cancel or stop paying and the lock is forfeited. A commitment, not a promo. Early access is configured by hand and priced exactly like this.
Your barbers, your services and how long they really take, your shops and hours. She's set up by hand for the first shops, so we're taking a few at a time.
Put your site in. If we already know it, we skip the hunt. Then call her from the phone you give us — she'll know it's you.