
Two dentists, two hygienists, four chairs, and a reception line that rings out before nine. Stella answers every call, books exams, hygiene and limited visits into the right capacity — hygienist or dentist, which chair — reminds, reschedules, and keeps six-month recall on its rhythm.
Good morning, Maple Street Dental, this is Stella — how can I help you?
It's not that you need another practice-management module. Someone has to pick up, know which capacity a visit needs, and keep the recall rhythm alive.
Recognised, greeted warmly. Stella doesn't diagnose — she books the right visit type into the dentist's held same-day capacity, and offers the nurse if it can't wait.
The universal six, and two that matter when capacity comes in two kinds and recall is the business.
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.
An exam needs the dentist; hygiene needs the hygienist; both need a chair from the pool. She books the right person into the right chair, keeps same-day capacity held for the calls that need it, and never double-books either.
Six-month hygiene is a standing arrangement: she books the next one before the patient leaves the call, reminds ahead, and when it moves only that visit moves — the rhythm carries on.
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.
A compressor down, a dentist off sick, a chair out for the day — the whole block moves, and it's your call, not the patient's. You say it once; she works out who's affected, offers each patient 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 patients who haven't left home yet get the call and the choice; the ones already in the waiting room get the real ETA; nobody further out is touched unless the delay keeps growing. Nobody hears why; nobody rings the desk.
Chair 2's compressor is down. Move chair 2's day across the other three or to tomorrow, hygiene first.
Recall isn't a mail-merge. It's a standing arrangement — hygienist, cadence, preferred time — projected forward, reminded ahead, and moved one visit at a time when life intervenes.
The cracked-tooth call comes at five past eight. Somebody has to say “11:30, come in.”
A panel at reception: who's next, which chair, what changed. One button to say “move Zoe to three.” Supply reps and scam calls never make it past the door.
Nothing clinical lives on the panel — first names and times, the way a whiteboard would. The record system stays where it is.
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.
Two dentists and two hygienists on Answer & Act: $276 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 visit types and who delivers them, your dentists and hygienists, your chairs, your hours, your recall rhythm. She's configured by hand for the first practices — 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.