From doorstep to payout
The life of a piece,
handled end to end.
Follow one sideboard through the shop — every step is one screen, and nothing depends on somebody remembering.
Photograph it. The till does the paperwork.
Four labelled shots — the piece, the mark, the details. Back comes a product name, category, era, a seven-point condition grade, and hallmarks read properly: it knows a lion passant means sterling, and that EPNS doesn’t.
The suggested price cites completed sales with links, your pricing rules cap and round it, and a human presses Save. A wrong price on a consigned piece is somebody else’s money — so nothing writes itself.
Tags that talk to lasers and to people.
One printed tag carries a Code 128 your scanner reads and a QR a customer’s phone reads — landing on a page with the photograph, the marks, and today’s price with the list price struck through.
Ageing stock marks itself down on the schedule you set — computed live, never overwritten, reversible at four o’clock if you change your mind at four o’clock.
Two registers. One chair. Zero apologies.
The moment a piece is scanned it’s held — another register gets a polite “held elsewhere”, and your online store gets the memo before a stranger on the internet buys what just walked out the door.
Cards go through the Poynt terminal you already own. The server prices every line from the database, because a browser is not a trustworthy source for what something costs.
The number your consignor already trusts.
Every payout claims the exact sales it settles. Two clerks pressing Pay at the same moment can’t double-pay — the database refuses, not a dialog box. Payments are voided, never deleted, so every cent can be explained six months later.
Commission is calculated on what a piece actually sold for, markdowns included — the statement and the shelf always agree.