Built for the specific way student apartments go wrong

Student housing is a market with its own physics. Everyone moves on the same day. Every apartment is older than the people in it. Every wall is plaster over lath, every window is original, and every lease ends with someone holding a month of your rent and a clipboard.

Meanwhile the actual work is completely ordinary — a bed frame, a curtain rod, a running toilet. It's not hard. It just requires a drill, a van, knowing which anchor to use, and being willing to turn up. Students have none of those things and nobody is selling them at student prices.

So the whole business is built around that gap. Every rate published in advance, because nobody negotiating their first apartment should have to haggle. A discount that applies automatically, because verification forms are just friction with a nicer name. And same-week slots, because the difference between a working shower and a broken one is the difference between a decent semester and a miserable one.

The pitch is simple: you text, we show up, it's fixed. Everything else is just handyman work, done properly, by people who turn up when they said they would.