You found the hat
I'm going to keep my name off this page, and I'll explain why in a minute. But you clicked a tiny fedora in a nav bar, so you've earned the real story.
I've spent eighteen years in event security. I started where almost everyone starts, on a folding chair on a perimeter post at 2am, watching a fence line, learning that the job is mostly hours of nothing punctuated by the few minutes that actually matter. Over the years I worked my way up through every seat there is, gate, search, roamer, breaker, supervisor, shift lead, and eventually I was the one in the trailer running security for events big enough that getting it wrong would have been a very bad day for a lot of people.
That whole climb, from the post to the trailer, is the reason this tool exists, because I have felt every one of these problems from both ends.
Here's what I kept living. I'd come on shift and inherit a site held together with a whiteboard, a schedule export that didn't match what we'd contracted, a clipboard for the radios, and a stack of sign-in sheets. Everyone working hard, everyone good at their jobs, and the whole operation still running on tools that actively fought us.
I'd backfill missing posts in real time by pulling people off-shift and begging others into overtime. I'd cover a break and quietly create an open post I wouldn't notice for an hour. At the end of the night I couldn't tell you for certain who'd had which radio. And in the back of my mind, every event, was the same cold thought: if a client ever asks me to prove we covered what we promised, I have a whiteboard that's already been wiped and a shrug.
None of it was anyone's fault. The people were good. The tools were the problem, and the tools had been the problem for my entire career.
I kept waiting for someone to build the thing I needed. The big platforms were built for permanent guard contracts, corporate campuses, property management, the kind of work where the same people guard the same building every day. None of them understood an event, the way it spikes to two hundred people for a weekend and then evaporates, the way the site moves all night, the way an empty post for forty minutes is the whole job.
So I built it myself. Standby is the operating system I wish someone had handed me twelve years ago. It runs the site the way I actually ran it, with the radio still in my hand, but it keeps the record I could never keep, catches the open post I would have missed, and at the end it can prove exactly what we delivered against exactly what we promised.
Every feature in it is a scar. The relief flow that catches the gap, the schedule reconciliation that flags missing posts before your shift starts, the coverage of record you can hand a client, all of it comes from a specific night I got burned or nearly did.
I'm keeping this anonymous for now, and I want to be honest about why rather than be coy. I still work in this industry. The people I'd sell this to are people I know, people I've worked alongside and across from. I'd rather let the tool earn its reputation on whether it solves your problem than on whose name is attached to it. If we end up working together, you'll know exactly who I am. For now, what matters is the eighteen years, not the name.
If you run events, you already know whether the night I described is your night too. If it is, I'd genuinely like to hear from you, the good war stories and the ones that still make you wince. Leave an email and it reaches me, the actual me, not a support queue.
From one operator to another. Let's put the whiteboard down.
If the night I described sounds like yours, come see what running it on one board looks like.