A number they can hit with a wet thumb
On a phone your number is the first thing on the screen and it dials in one tap, sized for somebody standing in an inch of water. No menu to open and no form to fill in. The form is there, further down, for the people with a day to spare.
Your call-out terms, in figures, before they ring
What it costs to come out, what the first hour is, and what happens to that figure if you go on to do the work, written on the page in your own words. A customer who has read it rings knowing what the visit costs, which is a better call for both of you.
A page that loads before they go back to the results
Under a second on a mid-range phone on a patchy signal. At nine at night the second name on the list gets rung while the first one is still loading, and that is a job decided by a progress bar rather than by anything you did.
A separate door for the work that can wait
The bathroom you were asked about while you were under the sink has its own page and its own quote form: what a refit involves, what it costs from, roughly when. Planned work arrives with the detail you need to price it, and never sits in the same queue as a burst pipe.