The rules we hold ourselves to
What we do when we can't prove a number.
A selection sheet is a document your client will hold you to. So the useful question about any software that fills one in isn't what it does when it works — it's what it does when it isn't sure. Every rule below is enforced in the code and covered by a test, not left to somebody remembering.
A price we can't prove is left blank.
When you drop a supplier's quote on your library, Sartoria reads the line items off it — and fills in a price only when the arithmetic closes, quantity times unit price matching the line total. When it doesn't, the field stays empty and the row is flagged for your eyes. A blank you notice is worth more than a number you trust by mistake.
A SKU we've never been given is not invented.
No product number, vendor name, color or price is ever produced that isn't literally in the document or on the vendor's page. A finish book prints a blank where a manufacturer publishes no model number, because a plausible-looking SKU is how the wrong thing gets ordered.
Your cost and your client's price can never swap places.
They travel in separate lanes end to end, and the import screen will not continue until you have said out loud which column in your file is which. A supplier's quote carries your cost; a selection sheet carries the number your homeowner was shown. Neither can land in the other's field.
The same rule governs everything a client can see. Your margin, your PO numbers, the day you placed an order and your builder-only notes cannot appear on a client page or inside a published revision — enforced at a single chokepoint in the code rather than page by page.
A paint color is the manufacturer's published value or nothing.
Color chips are matched against the manufacturer's own published values. Where there isn't one, you get the product photograph rather than a color we sampled off a styled room shot — because a wall painted from a guess is a wall painted twice.
A tracking number only becomes a link where we've watched the link work.
Carrier tracking pages come from a checked list. Where a shipment is moving on an LTL freight line running its own lookup, the number stays an honest label instead of a link that sends someone to a stranger's parcel.
When a page has to be read by eye, it's read twice.
Some builders' selection sheets are fill-in workbooks — every option pre-printed on the page, the chosen one marked by filling the cell in. That mark isn't text, so reading the PDF gets you the questions and none of the answers. Sartoria says so rather than importing a coin toss.
What it offers instead is to read the pages as images — and it reads every page twice, independently. A row only counts as settled where both reads agree. Where they answer differently, you get the row flagged with both answers side by side, so you can settle it from the review screen instead of opening the PDF.
We do it that way because one read isn't good enough to trust silently. Measured on a real 65-page sheet: two independent reads agreed on 87% of rows, and the rest is exactly the list worth your attention. A reader that tells you which rows to check beats one that sounds certain and is wrong about a handful.
Nothing is written until you press Import.
Every import — a quote, a spreadsheet, a selection sheet — stages onto a review screen first. You see every row, every guess is labeled as one, and you can correct anything before a single record is created. Walk away and nothing happened.
Your data leaves on the same button whether you're staying or going.
Every selection on a home exports as a spreadsheet — room, product, vendor, SKU, link, quantity, price, allowance, lead time, order-by date, order status, and the days it was decided and approved. The record, the finish book and the trade sheets all print. There is no export request, no support ticket and no last-month penalty. We would rather keep you with the product than with a contract.
If you find somewhere Sartoria breaks one of these, that is a bug and we want to hear about it — it goes straight to the person who built it.