The night it climbs
One number decides whether you open up to a full coolroom, or an empty one.
Scroll through the night a compressor quietly gives up. Watch the temperature, and watch what happens when someone is actually told.
11:00pm
Closed up, all good.
Coolroom 2 sits at 2.4°C, right where it should be. The last delivery is away, the door is shut, the room is holding. Nothing for anyone to do.
1:10am
The compressor stops.
No bang, no spark. It just quietly stops fighting. The room is still cold, so a simple threshold alarm says nothing yet. But the only direction the number can go now is up.
2:30am
5.1°C, and rising.
It crosses 5°C, into the danger zone, climbing on a steady curve. This is the moment everything turns on. A silent app badge would let it keep going. We don't.
2:31am
We call your phone.
Push, then SMS, then an actual phone call, to you, then the next person on the list, until someone answers. Hard to sleep through. Easy to act on.
Before 7am
You're back, stock saved.
You called the fridgie at 2:40am, propped the right door, moved what mattered. By open the room is back to 2.9°C and the bin run never happened. The call cost you a night's sleep, not a night's stock.
The other morning
14°C. Everything gone.
The morning nobody was told, the same failure ran for six hours. The night's prep, the produce, the meat: all of it in the bin, and no record to show why. That is the morning a real alarm exists to prevent.