
Three branches, four audiologists who rotate, a dispensing team on the floor — and patients who phone rather than click, and don't hear well on the phone. Stella answers clearly and patiently, books tests, fittings and follow-ups into the right person for the right length at each branch, reminds, and offers the sooner branch when it helps.
Good morning, Clearsound Hearing, this is Stella — how can I help you?
It's not that you need another clinic module. Someone has to pick up — patiently, clearly — know which visit needs which person, and make the sooner-elsewhere offer.
Recognised, greeted by name, spoken to clearly. Stella tells follow-up from fitting, checks every branch, and offers the trade: wait here, or Thursday at Westfield.
The universal six, and two that matter when visits differ, branches are several, and the callers are older.
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.
A hearing test needs the audiologist for an hour; a fitting an hour; a follow-up half; a battery and tube change is the dispenser for fifteen. She books the right visit into the right person and never a per-person fudge.
She speaks slowly and clearly, one question at a time, and reminds by phone call for those who prefer it. Audiologists rotate; hours are per branch. She offers the other branch only when meaningfully sooner — with the place named.
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 booth that failed calibration, an audiologist off sick, a delivery of aids that hasn't come — 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.
The booth failed calibration — no tests today, keep fittings and follow-ups. Offer tests Thursday.
Audiologists aren't owned by a branch — presence is a schedule. Stella searches the patient's usual branch first and offers another only when it's meaningfully sooner, always with the place named.
The people who ring a hearing clinic don't hear well on the phone. Somebody has to answer slowly.
A panel at each branch's desk: who's next, what changed. One button to say “move Ben to four.” Aid manufacturers' reps and scam calls never make it to the floor.
Between patients, a glance is enough. Nothing to click.
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.
Four audiologists and two dispensers on Answer & Act: $414 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 audiologists and where they are on which days, your booths, your review rhythm. She's configured by hand for the first clinics — 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.