Your site loads in seven seconds on a phone. Ours loads in under one.
Six seconds is enough for a homeowner to back out of the tab and tap the next shop down. That isn't a marketing problem. That's a call you didn't get.
For garage-door shops
We rebuild your site in one day so the click turns into a phone ringing. $500 once. $200 a month after that. You don't lift a finger.
Your site loads in seven seconds on a phone. Ours loads in under one.
Six seconds is enough for a homeowner to back out of the tab and tap the next shop down. That isn't a marketing problem. That's a call you didn't get.
Your phone number is on the page somewhere. On ours, it's the first thing a thumb can hit.
Click-to-call across the top of every page. Sticky on mobile. No scroll, no menu, no form. If a homeowner has a broken spring at 7 a.m., he should be able to reach you before his coffee finishes.
Your photos are stock images of somebody else's garage. Ours are the doors you actually installed.
We pull from your Google Maps reviews, your phone camera roll, and the jobs you finished last month. Real doors. Real driveways. The homeowner can tell the difference, and so can his neighbor.
Your site says you do garage doors. Ours says what kind, in what towns, and how fast.
"Spring replacement in the Sacramento area, same-day appointments before 11 a.m." beats "We service all your garage door needs" every time. The homeowner is searching for the specific thing that just broke. Your site should answer him in plain words.
Your site updates when you remember to log in. Ours updates when you text us a photo.
You finish a job, snap a picture, send it to our number. New review on Google? We pull it onto the page that week. New service area, new truck, new pricing — text us. That's the $200 a month. You run your shop. We run your site.
"Why $500? My nephew quoted me free."
Free websites cost the most of any kind. Your nephew's first site looks like a first site — and homeowners can tell. Ours is built on a template we've shipped before, on infrastructure that doesn't break, with copy written by people who do this for a living. $500 is what it costs to skip the lesson your nephew's site would have taught you.
"Why $200 a month? I already pay for hosting."
You pay for hosting. Hosting is the parking spot. We're the mechanic who keeps the car running. Photos updated, reviews surfaced, pages added when you pick up a new service, the small fixes that pile up if nobody touches them for a year. $200 a month is what it costs to never think about your website again.
"How long does it take?"
One day for the build. You send us your business name, your service area, three or four photos of recent jobs, and your phone number. We send back a finished site the next morning. Edits in the week after that. Live and ringing inside ten days.
"What if I want changes?"
You text. We change. That's what the $200 covers. Big changes — a new service line, a second location — we'll quote separately and ship inside the week.
"What if I don't like it?"
We rebuild it. The $500 buys the build, not a one-shot. If the first draft misses, we redraft until the homeowner clicks through and you don't wince at your own site.
"Do I own the site?"
Yes. You own the domain, you own the content, you own the photos. If you ever leave us, you get the files and a one-page walkthrough of where everything lives. We don't lock anything down.
No pitch deck. No "discovery process." You show us your site, we tell you what we'd change and what it'd cost. If it's a fit, you're live in a week. If it isn't, you got a free outside read on your website.