For dealers · TyrePOS

Quote, sell, fit and get paid, from your phone.

Type a size and what you have in stock is in front of you, priced fitted. The car goes to a bay, and the invoice is done before it leaves.

TyrePOS also runs mobile fitting from a van · coming this month

What it does for you

Every tyre on the selling screen with its label grades and what it fits, so nobody opens a second tab in front of a customer.
Every quote is priced fitted, so the number said across the counter is the number on the invoice.
The yard on one screen: which car is in which bay, and which was promised for a time that has already gone.
Stocktake on your phone, standing among the tyres.
The day on one screen: what came in, what went out and what is about to run out.

A customer walks in with worn tyres. The size typed, the tyre picked, the invoice made, and the fitting sent to his garage.

78 seconds, no sound, captions on. Recorded in a sample shop: every name and figure in it is invented.

83 seconds, no sound, captions on. Recorded in a sample shop: every name and figure in it is invented.

TyrePOS is in every plan. Free for 14 days to start, with everything switched on and no card.

Where do you trade?

Every plan, side by side, is on the pricing page.

Every line is true of TyrePOS as built. Where something is decided but not yet built, it says so on the line. The same list is a one-page PDF.

Type a size the way it is said — 205 55 16, 205/55R16, or only half of it — and what is in stock is in front of you, in price order.
Photograph the sidewall and the size is read off the tyre. It is offered, never filled in by itself, so a misread never reaches the stock.
Everything about the tyre is on the selling screen — size, ratings, label grades, what it fits, what the other branch has in stock. Nobody opens a second tab in front of a customer.
“Why is this one more?” answered in terms that land: how much shorter it stops in the wet, and how much less fuel it drinks in a year.
A competitor’s quote can be photographed and read line for line against what you stock — including the grades their tyre gives away.
A quote is priced fitted — tyre, valve, balancing, disposal on the line — so the number said across the counter is the number on the invoice.
Discounts come from a fixed set rather than a free-text box, and a price can be typed over at the counter — the line then says who changed it, and from what, for the rest of the sale.
Work sells without a tyre. An alignment on its own goes through the counter like anything else, priced from your own list of services.

The yard on one screen: which car is in which bay, what is left to fit, and which was promised for a time that has already gone.
Nobody presses “now it is being fitted”. A job’s state is worked out from what has actually been fitted, so it is never a day out of date.
The fitter’s card arrives in the bay with the tyres already allocated, in positions, with the extras that were sold — and it prints, for the workshop where a phone stays in a pocket.
Every fitting belongs to a fitter, per tyre, with a time on it — “how many did he do in March” is a question with an answer, not an afternoon’s arithmetic.
A moved bay or a changed promise is written down the moment it changes, so “he was told four o’clock” is settled by looking.

Nothing stores “we have four”. What is in stock is the sum of what actually happened — took in eight, sold four — so two counters can never silently overwrite each other.
Stocktake on the phone, standing among the tyres: one tap for every line that agrees, a keypad for the two that do not, and a blind mode for counting stock you do not own.
Deliveries are booked in at the door, on the phone standing there — and the counter learns each supplier’s own codes as you go, so the second delivery is faster than the first.
Stock is only ever corrected by a difference and a reason, never by a balance typed over the top of the day’s sales.
Stock elsewhere is still a sale here: take the money now, fit when the set arrives from the other branch.
“Running thin” is a list on the day screen, sorted by how thin — it answers “what do I ring the supplier about”, not “what do I have”.

A customer’s card holds his name, his numbers, his cars — plural, read off the invoice book — and the notes the counter keeps on him.
What he owes, what he bought and when he was last in are worked out from the invoices, never typed, so they are never out of date.
Who is due again: a tyre lasts three or four years, and the list of people who bought a set long enough ago is money nobody else is watching.
Every invoice ever written, found the way people actually ask: a name, a number, or a date — and an invoice cannot be quietly edited afterwards, which is the only reason it is evidence of anything.

Payment arrives in as many pieces as it arrives in: card and cash, or a deposit now and the balance on collection.
Who owes the shop and how long they have owed it — credit limits, terms, receipts and statements, without buying an accounting package first.
The day on one screen: what came in, what went out, and what is about to run out.
Gross margin is on every line already, so “what did we make this week” costs nothing to answer.
A floor under what you make on a tyre, per tier or per product. Below it the counter warns — or refuses, if you want the door locked — and every sale that went out under the floor is on a list with the person’s name on it.
The moment a sale finishes, the counter says exactly what leaves for your books, so nothing waits to be retyped.

The day lives on the phone or the tablet itself, and is written there before it is shown on the screen — not after.
Close the tab, drop the phone, let the battery die at four o’clock: the day is still there when it comes back.
When the line returns, what this counter did goes up and what everybody else did comes down.
If two counters sell the last set at once, both sales survive and the shop is told it is a set short. No sale ever silently disappears.
It installs on the phone like an app, because that is what it is.

Roles are drawn around what a person may see first, and what they may do second. The counter never sees what a tyre cost, because in this trade that walks out the door with them.
Staff sign in with a PIN, on a counter that was enrolled once, carefully — the way a shared counter with a queue in front of it actually works.
Every change writes down who, what, when, and what it was before, in a record nobody can edit afterwards — including us.
Your country sets the currency, what the tax is called, how dates are written and whose clock the day runs on. Settings, not assumptions.