The internet dies on a Friday. Toast doesn't.
You shelved Toast's agent and opened its kitchens and card readers to every partner's agent. Above the counter, you're nobody's rival now.
A year later, nearly every agent's order fires into a Toast kitchen. Then a Friday in March: a storm knocks Boston offline at 7pm.
The Restaurateur: Every agent in the city went dark, darling. My reservations, my reorders, my reviews. Silence.
Head of Payments: Our terminals ran offline all night. 2 million cards taken, every ticket fired, everything settled at dawn.
OMNI: I was offline for four hours. Your card reader covered for me. How humbling.
The Restaurateur: I'd pay anything for whatever kept my kitchen cooking. So tell me what else you'd keep.
Head of Payments: We can be the line every agent cooks through. Or the line and the memory of every night.
- A. The line. Any agent, any wallet, even offline. Kitchens and cards. Nothing above them.
- B. The line and the memory. Any lab reads it. Keep what every kitchen learns.
- C. Then the line runs only Toast IQ. Lock the kitchen. Our agent only.