You know the price. You just can't sit down and write it.
Six jobs walked this week. Every one of them still waiting on a number, and the number gets written at nine at night.
This is what a quote starts as.
Half abbreviated, circled twice, written on your knee. It never gets typed up.
Photo it, email it, or just talk.
Whichever one you'd have done anyway. No app, no login, no new habit.
It already knows your prices.
Your last 143 quotes: what you charged, what you won, what you lost. Your price book too, if you have one.
Thirteen minutes later: a quote you could send.
Every number comes from a job you've already done. Nothing goes to Karen until you say so.
Don't like it? Tell it. Out loud.
You don't open the quote. You talk at it the way you'd talk to a foreman.
Ninety seconds. Four changes. Done.
Crossed out, not quietly overwritten. You see exactly what moved.
Fix it once. It remembers next time.
Three of those four changes weren't about this job. They were about how you price.
Your prices. In her inbox while she still cares.
Same numbers, same judgment. Days before anyone else.
A quoting assistant that already knows your work.
Built for contractors and trades. Nothing to learn, nothing to log into.
bath gut. 5 x 8
tues call
kitchen — cabinets only
she has the boxes
NEEDS NUMBER BY FRI
deck rebuild
~340 sq ft
composite? asked
2 windows + trim
lead paint?? 1920s
bath gut. 5 x 8. tues call
— tile floor + shower surround
— soaker tub, she wants → CHECK JOIST
— vanity 48" — she's buying it
— move toilet 14"? plumb
— no exhaust fan
— popcorn ceiling ugh
subfloor soft by tub — budget replace
house is 1928, no shutoff in bath
she asked abt March. twice.
“On Sedgwick — take the dumpster off, I've got the trailer. Subfloor's a thousand. Put March in writing. Round it to eighteen five and send it.”