Four teachers, forty classes a week, trials all the time. Stella answers every call, enrols into classes with real seat counts, books trials and privates into each teacher's hours, reminds, and runs the waitlist — while everyone's in the studio with the music up.
Tempo Dance Studio, this is Stella — how can I help you?
You don't need another studio-management login. You need someone who picks up, knows the seat counts in both studios, and books the trial without anyone leaving the floor.
Stella knows the real seat count, offers the class with room, enrols on the spot, and confirms by text.
The universal six, and two that matter when your book is classes as well as appointments.
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.
Classes are pre-published with a capacity; she enrols by voice or text into the real count, and when a class is full she runs the waitlist — the first person gets the text the moment a place opens.
A private lesson is open booking into a teacher's hours; a class is a seat. Same Stella, same ledger, one answer on the phone. Weekly enrolment sees the holidays coming.
She takes the 7:38 text the moment it comes — the mother doesn't have to wait until nine and forget. 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 — 24 hours' notice, a make-up credit, a fee — is yours; she states it plainly, applies it the same way every time, and never guilt-trips a parent.
Everyone on the short-notice list asked to be on it. Nobody is nagged; nobody hears another client's business.
Rain, a burst pipe, a birth, the autoclave, the hall double-booked — 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 person the right alternative in their own words, waives the fee, logs the reason, and reports back. When it's an overrun rather than a closure she works by who can still act: the people who haven't left home yet get the call and the choice; the people already in the room get the honest ETA and a coffee; nobody further out is touched until the delay is still growing. Nobody hears why; nobody rings the desk.
The hall's floor is flooded — no classes tonight. Offer Thursday and Saturday, and tell parents by six.
A class is a published shell with N seats; open booking is search-then-create into a teacher's hours. Same ledger, two supply paths — so the phone gives one honest answer for a class, a trial or a private.
The parent who calls at six is teaching-time. Somebody has to say “yes, there's a place.”
A panel at reception: which class is next, who's new, what changed. One button to say “move the teens' class to Studio B.” Costume suppliers and scam calls never make it to the floor.
Between classes you look up and know. Nothing to tap, nothing to drag.
No “press one”. No “your call is important to us”. No recorded disclaimers before a human word. Warm, short, present — and honest if you ask what she is.
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.
Your classes and their capacities, your teachers and their hours, your rooms, your term dates. She's configured by hand for the first studios — a few at a time.
Stella is in early access with a small number of practices and salons. Tell us about your phone and we'll tell you plainly whether she fits — and when.