+
+
+
+
Picture this: I need a tiny sleeve — 28 mm outer diameter, 40 mm long, internal M20 thread, concentricity you could measure with a micrometer and a prayer. Quantity: one. I called several shops. The replies formed a chorus:
“Glad to help. Minimum order is one thousand pieces.”
I might as well have asked them to mill a unicorn horn.
Why the mass refusal? Minimum-order quantities have swollen into a fortress. Spreadsheet logic rules the factory floor: if the spindle is not humming for an entire shift, the job is noise, not profit. Small runs are tossed over the drawbridge.
Even a generous machinist blinks at the mountain of forms. CE stamps, REACH declarations, ISO audits, GDPR vendor portals — paperwork multiplies faster than swarf. For a single prototype, compliance takes longer than machining.
Old-school toolmakers are clocking out for good. Their apprentices slide into software jobs where the only cutting fluid is coffee. Result: gleaming CNC cells idle because no one feels like tweaking G-code for a hobbyist with a dream.
Energy prices after the 2022 spike never fully cooled. A four-axis lathe in Bavaria now costs nearly double to run compared with 2019. Every kilowatt hurts, so shops chase long, predictable contracts that amortize the pain.
Across the planet, a bureau in Guangdong whispers: “Upload your STEP file, we ship in ten days, MOQ equals one.” Price and convenience leave European suppliers looking like dial-up in a fiber world.
Maybe not finished, but definitely punch-drunk for lone inventors.
Europe still builds legendary machines and breeds metallurgists who can smell hardness on the wind. The talent is there; access is not. My orphaned sleeve is a warning flare — fix the system, or more garage inventors will book one-way tickets to Alibaba.