I'm an AI consultant, and now I'm a tradesperson too.
· by Kevin Stumpf
Last week a box was standing at my door. Bambu Lab P1S — a 3D printer so big that the parcel courier asked whether a new family member was moving in. “Sort of,” was my answer. He laughed. I didn't. I meant it seriously.
I sell AI to tradespeople. That's my job, I enjoy it, it works. What I have so far not not was one of them. I've never once assembled a wardrobe without having at least three screws left over. My toolbox consists of a hammer (inherited), a screwdriver (from IKEA) and a spirit level I can no longer quite locate.
And then the printer arrived.
Day 1: I print a container — for my printer
My first project — and I swear this is the truth — was a Catch tray for the printer itself. The so-called “Poop-Chute” or, as it’s affectionately known in the scene: Filament-Kacka-Eimer.
Background for the non-printer folks: when a 3D printer prints in several colours, it has to push the old filament out of the nozzle before the new one can come through. What comes out are small plastic sausages. The community calls them Poops. And so they don't end up everywhere in the workshop, you print a container for them. One container, drumroll, and a Poop emoji as logo relief. Printer humor.
So my first self-printed piece was not something that made my everyday life easier. It was an accessory for the printer. I basically printed something for my printer so that the printer makes less of a mess when printing. A perfect craft circle.
Print duration: 14 hours.
Yes, you read that right. Fourteen hours. My printer worked on this thing for longer than I have spent on some client projects. And while it did, I sat next to it like an anxious parent in the delivery room, watching a piece of plastic take shape layer by layer (0.2 mm per layer, I know that now), whose only function is to watch other plastic die.
But that wasn't it. The point wasn't that I needed a waste bin. The point was: I had done something. With my own hands. (Well — with the hands of a machine I had switched on. But roughly the same.)
Day 3: I understand why tradespeople are tradespeople
After three days with the printer, I had:
- Bought three different filament types because you do need that, after all
- A printed tablet holder I don't need, because I don't own a tablet
- Argued with a guy from the Bambu forum over whether 215°C or 220°C is better for matte PLA
- Sent my brother a photo of the print bed with the caption “Look what I made"
- Realises that at least five Telegram groups only available for 3D-printing filament
And that's exactly when it clicked for me.
That is craftsmanship. The love of detail. The unhealthy obsession with material properties. The sense of pride when something works. And the opposite when the first coat doesn't hold and you start questioning your life choices.
I've spent years talking with tradespeople about enquiries, invoices, paperwork and local search. I knew the problems, at an abstract level. 'You lose jobs because you don't pick up the phone in the evening.' I got that. Empathy: yes. Real understanding: meh.
But now I'm sitting here wondering whether to start one more print run at half past ten, since it would be ready first thing tomorrow, and I think: Aha, so this is what it feels like when you build something you can't delegate.
Day 7: My carpenter mate calls
Hans, a carpenter mate of mine from Düren (a real carpenter, unlike me), calls:
"Hey Kevin, I heard you've got a printer now. What are you printing?"
“A catch container.”
Break.
"A … what?"
"Catch container. For the printer. So the plastic waste the printer squeezes out when changing colour doesn't end up all over the workshop."
A longer pause.
“You've been printing a trash can for your printer for 14 hours?”
"With poop emoji."
The silence on the other end was telling. Hans then laughed for another ten minutes and explained that he can buy a trash can at Bauhaus for €2.99 without anyone having to wait 14 hours for it.
I replied to him by email: “Hans, the Bauhaus trash can doesn’t have a pile-of-poo emoji. Checkmate.”
He didn't reply.
What this has to do with my job
You might be wondering: Nice one, Kevin, that you've got a printer now — but why are you telling me this on a blog about AI consulting?
Entitled. Here is the answer:
Over the past few years I built solutions for tradespeople without really knowing what trade work actually feels like. Sure — it wasn't a total blind flight. I talked to roofers, carpenters, plumbers. I stood in workshops. But I was always the guy from outside. The one with the laptop. The one who makes the slides.
Now I get a bit of the feeling every tradesperson knows:
- Materials cost money. One roll of PLA mat: €25. You'll need several colours of it. Now I understand why my plumbing mate gets stomach aches with every materials list.
- Tools are a hobby in themselves. My printer has already had upgrades. I own a special build plate for textures. I now know what a 'hotend' is and which nozzle diameter suits what. I understand carpenters who own ten different planes.
- If something goes wrong, it's your fault. First layer not sticking? Your bed isn't level. Print head clogged? Your temperature is wrong. Nobody else is to blame. This isn't software you can restart. It's a machine standing in front of you that doesn't work, and you have to fix it.
These three points? I've heard exactly those a thousand times from tradespeople. Only it was about water pipes, wooden boards, roof tiles.
Am I offering 3D printing consulting now?
No. Not happening. I'm definitely not a 3D printing pro, and I won't become one anytime soon. My catch tray is crooked, and the tablet holder had support structures on the first attempt that I removed with a kitchen knife. It wasn't professional.
But I will:
- Listen better, when a carpenter explains to me why a particular plane is the right tool. I understand it differently now.
- Rarely "just do it" say. If I spent 14 hours on a plastic container with a pile-of-poo emoji, then "just make me a new logo" isn't a 5-minute job either.
- More respect have when a tradesperson is still in the workshop at 7 pm on a Thursday. I've also sat next to the printer at 11 pm. Out of love for the poop chute.
My point: Anyone building solutions for tradespeople should have made something with their own hands at least once. Anything: a wooden picture frame, a garden bed or a silly collection bin with a poop emoji. You see their world differently once you have experienced it yourself. And that makes the difference between “Software for tradespeople” and “Software that works for tradespeople”.
What's next on the print bed
My plan for the coming weeks:
- A phone holder for my father's workbench (he doesn't know about it yet)
- A logo sign for my office (much shorter print time than the catch tray, I hope)
- Maybe, maybe! A replacement part for a broken drawer, instead of throwing it away.
If anything useful comes out of it, I'll upload pictures. If not, I'll stay quiet and act as if nothing happened.
If you'd like to talk about AI for your business — and maybe hear what it's like from the perspective of a poop chute printer — just get in touch. I promise: no slides, no buzzword bingo, and no "I understand you as a tradesperson" without me actually doing it.
P.S. If you have a 3D printer yourself and any tips for me, write to me. I'll take any advice, especially on how to remove support structures cleanly without destroying half my print along with them. My kitchen knife is clearly overwhelmed.
