Every screen exists because someone in the shop needs it at a particular moment. Here is the order they get used in.
Customer, vehicle, VIN and what the customer says is wrong. The work order records who wrote it up.
Sixteen stages from intake to pickup, including waiting on a customer, waiting on parts and finding something else. Every move records who made it, so the board answers where a car is without anybody opening it.
Signing in with a personal PIN claims the job. Diagnosis, labor lines and parts land against their name, at the labor rate the VIN already chose for that class of vehicle.
A courtesy multi-point, a billed diagnosis or a deep diagnostic — different jobs, different sheets. A truck is asked about its air system and DEF; a car never is. A half-finished sheet cannot be passed off as a clean bill of health.
Labor and parts at your rates, with the inspection findings and photos beside them. The customer unticks anything they do not want and signs. You can text them the link from your own shop number and carry on the conversation there.
Everything freezes into a permanent record, fingerprinted with SHA-256, naming the technician and whoever sealed it. Repairs involving parts mint a warranty token against that record.
The invoice is generated from the sealed record rather than from anything still editable. Owner or front desk records the payment.
Sealing also files the parts warranties, queues the customer's next service, publishes the repair to the vehicle's history, and — if you use QuickBooks — leaves the invoice ready to push across.
They get your shop code. From any phone browser they enter it with their VIN or the phone number on file and see the current status of their repair.
Who is here, what they are doing, and whether the numbers work.
Every shop is separated at the database level, not by a filter someone remembered to apply. A record belonging to another shop is not visible, not editable and not reachable, including by its id.