The eviction notice came on a Thursday. My restaurant manager job was gone, savings depleted, and my daughter’s college fund had been used for rent. But there, in my cramped apartment living room, sat the $200 3D printer I’d bought with my last unemployment check – what my mother called “another one of your impulse purchases.”
Today, I run a six-figure 3D printing business from my warehouse, creating custom medical devices for veterinarians across the country. But in April 2020, I was just Marcus, a 35-year-old single dad, watching YouTube tutorials at 3 AM while my daughter Riley slept.
The Desperate Purchase
“Dad, can you make me a phone stand?” Riley asked, watching me unbox the printer. At 14, she had more faith in me than I did. The first print failed. So did the second. And the third. But by the tenth attempt, that phone stand looked pretty good.
“You should sell these,” Riley said, now using her perfectly printed stand during virtual school. I laughed. But then her teacher asked where she got it during a Zoom class.
The First Break
That teacher’s question led to my first order – 30 tablet stands for her entire class. I charged $10 each, thinking it was too much. She insisted on paying $15.
“Their parents are all doctors and lawyers,” Riley explained. “They’ll pay for quality.” My teenager was becoming my business advisor.
Learning Curve
Every night became a masterclass. While Riley slept, I devoured tutorials:
- 3D modeling software
- Material science
- Design optimization
- Print troubleshooting
I turned our tiny balcony into a ventilated print farm, running four machines I’d bought with the tablet stand money. The neighbors thought I was crazy, printing at all hours, the machines humming like a small factory.
The Game-Changer
Then came Dr. Martinez and her limping German Shepherd. She lived downstairs and saw me carrying my prints one day.
“You work with plastic?” she asked. When I nodded, she described a problem: standard prosthetic paws for dogs were too expensive for many of her clients.
That night, I researched veterinary prosthetics until sunrise. Two weeks and thirty prototypes later, I had created a customizable, affordable dog paw prosthetic.
Dr. Martinez cried when she fitted it on her patient. “Do you know how many animals this could help?”
Scaling Up
Word spread through the veterinary community like wildfire. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Riley became my “Chief Organization Officer,” creating spreadsheets for orders between her homework.
“Dad,” she said one morning, “we need help.” She was right. Orders were backing up, and I was sleeping three hours a night.
I took a risk and hired James, another laid-off restaurant worker. Taught him everything I knew. He brought in his own creativity, improving our designs. Soon, we had five employees – all former service industry workers learning this new trade.
Today’s Reality
We’ve moved from my balcony to a 3,000-square-foot warehouse. Our team of twelve (including Riley as our actual COO during summer breaks) creates custom medical devices for veterinary practices nationwide. Last month, we launched our training program, teaching other laid-off workers the skills I learned during those sleepless nights.
The printer that started it all? It sits in our lobby, still making phone stands. “To remind us that big dreams start small,” Riley says during client tours.
The Sweet Victory
Last week, I catered lunch for my team – from my old restaurant. My former boss was delivering the order himself, now struggling with staff shortages.
“I always knew you were too smart for restaurants,” he said, looking around at our operation.
“Not smarter,” I corrected him. “Just desperate enough to try something new.”
Lessons Learned
The pandemic taught me that security isn’t about having a safe job – it’s about having valuable skills and the courage to learn new ones. Every crisis brings opportunities, but they often look like cheap 3D printers and sleepless nights.
Looking Forward
We’re expanding into human medical devices next year. Riley’s starting college soon – engineering, of course – and yes, her college fund is more than restored.
“Dad,” she said recently, looking at her original phone stand, now displayed in my office, “remember when we thought losing your job was the worst thing ever?”
I do remember. Just like I remember that eviction notice, which I now keep framed next to our first veterinary prosthetic. Because sometimes rock bottom is just life’s way of teaching you to build something new.
P.S. My mother finally admitted the 3D printer wasn’t an impulse purchase. She even asked for one for Christmas. “Never too old to learn new tricks,” she said, already planning her own product line at 68.
