Torspan
It doesn't know where you are.
No GPS. No map. No clock to punch. No score on anybody and no list of who did more. And there's nothing to fill out — you tell it what you did, the way you'd tell your foreman, and that's the whole job.
06 No score, no ranking, no location trail. There is no number about a man anywhere in the product.
What it doesn't collect.
Read this part first, because it's the part that decides whether the rest is worth reading.
That list is not a setting somebody can turn on later. There is no location code in the product to turn on.
It isn't listening.
It doesn't record calls. It doesn't run in the background. It doesn't pick up a site walk because a phone was in somebody's pocket, and it doesn't transcribe a conversation nobody pointed it at.
Every word in the record is a word a person chose to write or say into the app, on purpose, in a message. If you hold the button and talk, that's a message. If you don't, there's nothing.
Your voice message is kept, and the typed-out version points back at it. If the typed version is wrong, you play your own words. That's why the audio stays.
What you actually do all day.
Four messages. That's a full day. Nothing below was filled in, tagged, or opened — everything on the right happened by itself.
2 photos
Riverbend Bldg 2 · Aug 14
Tomas
Caption taken from his message
M-402 · Rev C
Sheet note 4
To Ray D.
Open
8.0
Riverbend Bldg 2 · Aug 14
Submitted by Tomas
6 hangers, north corridor
Shaft started
The line in bold is what it understood. It comes back before anything gets written down, so you catch it in the same minute instead of arguing about it on Friday. If it's wrong, say so in the next message — it fixes it in the same turn. There is no confirm step, no “reply YES,” no review screen.
Invented crew, invented job. Nobody on this page is a real person and nothing on it is a real building or a real drawing.
Say it however you say it.
Type it with one glove off. Hold the button and talk. Spell it wrong. Leave out the punctuation. Say “eight and a half” or “8.5” or “eight thirty to five.” Say the job by the name your crew calls it, not the name on the contract.
Write it in Spanish. Write it in Russian. It keeps your sentence exactly as you wrote it — that sentence is what everything else points back at — and it answers you in the language you asked in.
There is no form behind any of this. Not a short form, not a smart form, not a form that fills itself in. There is no required field, no dropdown of cost codes, no timer to start, no shift to clock into, and nothing that turns red if you skip it.
What the app looks like on a phone, screen by screen → The app
If you'd rather not.
Tell your foreman, the way you always have. He can put your hours in with your name in his own words, and the entry says he submitted it — his sentence, his name on the line that shows where it came from. Nothing about your day depends on you touching an app.
Nobody gets told you didn't. There's no report on it, because the number doesn't exist to report.
Nobody tags a photo.
Send the picture. It lands on the right job, with the date on it and your name on it, and whatever you wrote in the message becomes the caption. You don't pick a folder, you don't pick a job, you don't type a description, and you don't do it twice because the first one went to the group text.
When it can't tell which job a photo belongs to — you were on two that day, or your words and the schedule disagree — it doesn't guess. It files it nowhere, says both, and asks. A photo on the wrong job is worse than a photo waiting.
The photos are the crew's, shared by design — the whole point is that the picture of the hangers on the north corridor is findable in November instead of nine hundred messages back in a thread. Shared is not the same thing as watched. Nothing in the photo record is a number about a man.
What it does when it can't tell which job a photo belongs to → Photos
Your hours, on your phone, the same day.
Not Friday. Not after the office keys them in. The same day you said them, on your own screen, with the sentence you said them in sitting underneath.
| Day | Hours | Job |
|---|---|---|
| Mon Aug 12 | 8.0 | Riverbend Bldg 2 |
| Tue Aug 13 | 8.0 | Riverbend Bldg 2 |
| Wed Aug 14 | 8.0 | Riverbend Bldg 2 |
|
“eight hours, north corridor, got six more hangers and started the shaft” sent 3:05 PM · Aug 14 · by Tomas |
||
| Thu Aug 15 | — | — |
| Fri Aug 16 | 6.0 | Riverbend Bldg 2 |
| Week | 30.0 | |
Tap a day and its sentence opens under the row. Wednesday is shown open.
Thursday is blank because nobody said anything about Thursday. It stays blank. It does not get filled with eight because the other four days were eight, and it does not get filled from the schedule. If Thursday was a work day, one sentence fixes it.
There is no second column on that screen with another man's name in it. No crew total, no average, no place where your week gets set beside anybody else's. You see yours. That is the whole design, and it is not a setting.
The Friday it gets argued about
Every hour on that screen carries the sentence it came from, who said it, and the minute it was sent. So the argument is about words instead of about somebody's memory of a Tuesday in August. That cuts your way more often than it cuts the other way, because the other way is a recollection.
Washington gives you the right to look at your own personnel file, payroll records included, and to get a copy within 21 calendar days at no cost — for three years after you leave, too. RCW 49.12.240 and RCW 49.12.250. None of that changes because of this app. It just means you don't have to ask to see your own week.
How an hour gets from a sentence to a payroll file → Hours
Invented crew, invented job. The hours and the sentence above are made up for this page.
The answer comes with the sheet.
Ask it for a size, a detail, a spacing, a gauge. It answers, and under the answer is the sheet number, the revision and the date it came off. One tap opens the sheet at that spot.
That last part is the whole thing. An answer with no sheet under it is a rumor, and you're the one on the ladder when it turns out to be wrong.
And it won't make you look stupid in front of your foreman. Nothing it tells you is invented — where it doesn't know, it says so and names the document it hasn't got. You never carry a made-up size across the floor with your name on it.
The second one is the reason the first one is worth something. It doesn't hand you a plausible number off the wrong sheet and let you go hang it.
The list of every sheet on your job and whether it's actually been read → What it's read
Who can see what.
Straight answer, because you're going to be the one carrying this thing and you should know exactly what it reports.
| What the company can see | What nobody gets, because it isn't collected |
|---|---|
| Your hours, with the sentence you said them in and the minute you sent it | Where you are. No GPS, no map, no route, no geofence, no arrival time |
| The photos you sent, on the job they belong to, with your name and the date | A score, a rating, a ranking or a percentage about you. There isn't one to see |
| The questions you asked and the answers that came back | A list of who posted and who didn't, on any day, in any week |
| The safety plan with your name on it and the minute you signed it | Anything the app wasn't handed — your contacts, your camera roll, your calls, your other apps |
| All of it, exported any day, in files that open without this app | Anything you said outside the app. It wasn't there |
The thread is a work record on your company's account, and your company can take all of it out any day. Nobody in the office gets a live feed of you typing, and there is no screen in this product that shows a person being watched — there is no such screen to build one out of. But it is a work app on a work account, so treat it like the time card and the text you send your foreman: don't put anything in it you wouldn't put on either one.
That's the same rule that already applies to you. The difference is that it's printed here instead of discovered later.
Who owns all of this, how long it's kept, and what happens to it if Torspan stops → Your records
The first year.
A first-year burns half his credibility asking the same question twice. Not because the question is bad — the question is how you learn — but because the second time, a journeyman has to put down what he's holding.
Ask the app for the size and it gives you the size with the sheet under it. Ask it again in November and it gives you the same sheet. What's left to ask a man is the part a man actually knows: why it goes that way, what bites you at the tie-in, which sequence keeps you off a lift twice. That's the conversation worth interrupting somebody for.
Nobody is being replaced in that trade. A drawing has never taught anybody how to hang anything.
It doesn't tell you how to do the work.
No method. No sequence. No “recommended approach.” No opinion about how you hung it or how long it took you. It has never been asked to have one and it doesn't have one.
When the sheet and what you're looking at disagree, it shows you the sheet, the revision and the date — and you call it. A level doesn't overrule the man holding it; it just doesn't lie about the wall.
05 The crew is the source, never the subject. The system works from what the crew says. Not on them, not about them.
What it won't do.
It doesn't know where you are, and there is no location code in it to switch on.
It doesn't score you, rank you, rate you, or count anything about you.
It doesn't listen. No calls, no background recording, no site walk picked up because a phone was in a pocket.
It doesn't create an hour on its own. Not from a schedule, not from a pattern, not overnight. Your pay is never a machine's guess.
It doesn't invent a day. If nobody said what happened, the day is blank and it says so.
It doesn't answer about a sheet it hasn't read. It names the sheet instead.
It doesn't write in your name or sign anything for you.
It doesn't nag you. No badge that shames you into opening it, no reminder that you're behind, no notification about somebody else.
The full list, and what's live today → What it won't do
What comes off your day.
- The paper ticket, and the Friday conversation about what you wrote on it.
- Texting your hours to your foreman and then explaining them again on Monday.
- The pre-task form at 6:50 with a pen, on the tailgate, in the cold.
- Sending photos into a group text where they're gone by lunch.
- Climbing down to find somebody for a dimension that's printed on a sheet in the truck.
- Being asked in November what you did in August, and having nothing but your memory.
None of that is the trade. It's the second shift that got attached to it.
See it work.
What it looks like on a phone, in a glove, with two bars of signal → The app
Who owns everything you put in it, how long it's kept, and how it comes back out → Your records