The chalkboard system · one board, one thought, one action
KEEP NEAR THE CHALK
One board. One thought. One action.
A chalkboard at the counter is not a billboard. It carries exactly three things:
a line worth reading even if they never scan, one clear invitation ("See what's happening next."),
and one QR code leading to a permanent page that stays current on its own. Everything else — every other
logo, list, and handle — waits at the destination.
The stance, in one breath: "I'm working behind this
counter today. I also happen to know where the interesting things are happening next." The board should feel like a
clever piece of the environment — never like rented media space.
The board entertains.
The QR explains.
The landing page sells.
// THE BOARD TEMPLATE — 60 / 20 / 20
MUSIC AND EXPERIENCES
TO EAT PIZZA TO.
See what we're making next:
COMEDY · MUSIC · LIVE THINGS
TOP 60% — THE HEADLINE.
Chalk. The funny or contextual line. Changes often — this is the only part you ever rewrite.
MIDDLE 20% — THE INVITATION.
Chalk, wet pass (below). Semi-permanent — it survives headline wipes for weeks.
BOTTOM 20% — QR + DESCRIPTOR.
Never chalk. It lives on the printed plaque, so the code always scans and the category line never smears.
That split is the whole discipline: the durable plaque
holds the invitation's meaning even when the invitation line wears, and chalk only ever redoes the top. A fresh board
is a two-minute job, not an art project.
// LETTERING — FOUR STYLES, AND WHEN EACH ONE WORKS
BLOCK CAPS
1 · THE HEADLINE. Big, flat-edged capitals, every stroke the same weight.
Rule of thumb: 1 inch of letter height per 10 feet of reading distance — a walk-up reads the board from
15–20 feet, so the headline wants 3-inch letters. At 3 inches, a 24-inch board fits ~10–12 characters a
line: count the characters and pick the two-line split before touching chalk. Two lines max.
one loose word
2 · THE ACCENT. A looser upper/lower or script hand for one emphasis
word in the headline — pizza, tonight, free. One word only; a whole line of script is
unreadable at distance and takes four times as long to write.
CONDENSED CAPS · TIGHT AND SMALL
3 · THE DESCRIPTOR. Narrow capitals, about 1 inch tall — read from arm's
length at the counter, not from the street. This is the plaque's style too ("COMEDY · MUSIC · LIVE THINGS"),
so a chalked descriptor matches the printed one anywhere you need both.
The invitation line (wet pass — dries darker, stays put)
4 · THE INVITATION. Plain, friendly upper/lower at 1.5–2 inches — and written
with a chalk-wet pass: dip the chalk in water and write slowly. It dries denser than dry chalk and won't
lift when you wipe the headline above it — it takes a deliberate scrub to remove. That's how the middle 20%
survives weeks of headline changes.
Baseline discipline: draw faint horizontal guide lines first — yardstick and a dry chalk corner — one per
line of text plus one for letter tops. Write on the lines, then wipe the guides with a barely-damp cloth. Crooked
baselines are the single thing that makes a board read as neglected.
Contrast tricks, pick ONE per board: outline the letters first and fill after (reads far bolder at distance
than a single stroke) · a side-shadow on one consistent side of every letter · a single underline flourish, and
only under the accent word. Stacking all three is how boards turn into noise.
// THE HEADLINE BANK — ROTATE FREELY, STEAL SHAMELESSLY
Pizza is happening now. Other good decisions are happening soon.
You've found dinner. Let's find you something to do afterward.
Come for the pizza. Scan for whatever is next.
Local happenings, selected for people with excellent taste in pizza.
Tonight: pizza. Soon: comedy, music, and mild social interaction.
Events worth leaving the house for.
Things to do after you finish chewing.
Your unofficial guide to what's happening next.
Hot pizza. Cool plans.
Participation encouraged. Napkins provided.
Writing a new one: the formula is context now + invitation next — name where the reader is standing
(pizza, dinner, chewing), then tilt toward what's coming. Keep it under ~12 words. The bar: the line must earn
a read even if nobody ever scans — if a stranger wouldn't repeat it to the person next to them, it isn't done.
// WHAT NEVER GOES ON THE BOARD
✕ Logos for five businesses.
Five logos read as zero logos. The cross-promotion lives at the destination, where each thing gets a real line.
✕ Lists of services.
A menu of offerings is a brochure, and nobody reads a brochure while holding a slice.
✕ Social handles.
Nobody types a handle off a board. The QR is the only pointer, and the page it opens carries every link.
✕ Competing calls to action.
Scan this, also follow, also visit, also book — each one halves the others. One action: scan.
All four failures are the same failure: they turn the
board into advertising clutter and the counter into rented media space. One board. One thought. One action.
// THE PLAQUE — SO CHALK ONLY EVER REDOES THE HEADLINE
The bottom 20% — invitation, QR,
descriptor — is a printed, durable object, because a QR drawn in chalk doesn't scan and a re-drawn one drifts.
Mount it as a screwed-on plaque (laminate the print, or print on cardstock behind acrylic), a
weatherproof sticker, a magnet on steel boards, or a laminated card clipped to an easel.
The QR encodes setandsignal.com/next?src=board — a permanent address that always shows the current calendar (the src tag quietly tells the analytics a physical board sent them), so the
plaque never expires.
{{ qrWarn }}
See what we're making next:
COMEDY · MUSIC · LIVE THINGS
{{ qrHuman }}
See what we're making next:
COMEDY · MUSIC · LIVE THINGS
{{ qrHuman }}
See what we're making next:
COMEDY · MUSIC · LIVE THINGS
{{ qrHuman }}
Dashed lines
are cut marks. Use the browser's print dialog and save as PDF or print direct; the pieces are laid out in real
inches, so print at 100% — never "fit to page". Scan a printed piece with a phone before mounting it; it should open
instantly.