by Mark Gillman, Fabrication Specialist
Six months ago, I made a decision that probably sounds crazy to most contractors: I'm running DG Custom Railing & Fabrication as a one-man operation. No employees. No crew. Just me.
People ask about it constantly. "When are you hiring?" "Don't you need help?" "How do you keep up?"
The truth? Some days I wonder the same thing.
It was a Tuesday in August. I had a quote due by 10 AM for a commercial handrail job. The steel supplier needed payment by noon for a delivery I was counting on. My phone kept buzzing with Instagram messages about a gate project someone saw on my feed. I had a railing to install that afternoon. And somewhere in all of that, I needed to actually fabricate the pieces I'd be installing.
That's when it hit me: I wasn't just a fabricator anymore. I was running seven different jobs at once, and none of them involved actually bending steel.
When I started this business, I thought about the work. The fabrication. The craft. That's what I'm good at—that's what I've done for 30 years.
But here's what a typical day actually looks like:
Morning (Marketing Hat): Before I even get to the shop, I'm answering messages, posting progress photos, responding to quote requests. I'm not a social media guy by nature, but if people don't know I exist, they can't hire me.
Mid-Morning (Sales Hat): Quote requests. Site visits. Measurements. Explaining to someone why their Pinterest inspiration photo would cost $3,000 to build. Every quote is basically a mini-consultation where I'm also trying to figure out if this person actually wants to hire me or if they're just shopping for the lowest number.
Late Morning (Procurement Hat): Calling suppliers. Ordering steel. Tracking down that specific powder coat color. Managing inventory in a 20x30 shop where every square foot matters. Running to pick up materials because delivery would cost $100 and take three days.
Afternoon (Manufacturing Hat): Finally. This is the part I actually trained for. Cutting, welding, grinding, fitting. This is where I'm most comfortable, and it's maybe 40% of my day if I'm lucky.
Late Afternoon (Installation Hat): Loading the truck. Driving to the job site. Installing. Making sure everything's level, secure, and exactly right. This is still fabrication work, but it's a completely different skillset than shop work.
Evening (Accounting Hat): Invoices. Expenses. Receipts. Profit margins. Tax stuff I don't fully understand but know I need to track. Figuring out if I actually made money on that job or just stayed busy.
Night (Project Management Hat): Planning tomorrow. Scheduling jobs. Coordinating timelines. Making sure I'm not promising someone a railing next Tuesday when I'm already booked through Friday and still need to order their materials.
And that's a good day. That's when everything goes according to plan.
Last month, I had a problem with a powder coating job. The shop I use had equipment issues—couldn't get to my pieces for two weeks instead of the usual three days.
If I had a crew, I could've sent someone to pick up the pieces, take them to another shop, coordinate the whole thing. Instead, I spent half a day on the phone, then drove 45 minutes each way to pick them up myself, then scrambled to find another powder coater who could fit me in.
The job got delayed. The customer was understanding, but I hated it. And while I was dealing with that, I wasn't fabricating, I wasn't installing, I wasn't quoting new work.
That's the real issue with wearing all seven hats: when one thing goes wrong, everything else stops. There's no backup. There's no delegation. It's just me juggling faster.
I'll be honest—there are parts of this I'm not good at.
Marketing? I know I should be posting more, engaging more, building a bigger online presence. But when I have a choice between spending an hour photographing a project for Instagram or spending that hour actually finishing the project, the work wins every time.
Sales? I'm learning, but I'm not a natural salesman. I can explain what makes a good handrail until you understand steel better than most contractors. But the smooth talking, the follow-up, the "closing the deal" stuff? That doesn't come naturally.
Accounting? I can weld a corner joint in my sleep. I still have to Google basic QuickBooks questions.
The business school stuff—the marketing, the sales funnels, the customer relationship management—that's all new territory. And I'm figuring it out as I go, which means I'm making mistakes.
Fair question. And believe me, I think about it.
But here's the thing: the moment I hire someone, I'm not a fabricator anymore. I'm a manager. I'm coordinating someone else's work instead of doing the work. I'm responsible for their paycheck, their insurance, their training, their mistakes.
I've worked on crews. I've managed teams. I know what that looks like. And right now, I'm choosing the freedom to do this my way, even if my way means working harder.
Maybe that changes. Maybe a year from now I realize I can't grow without help. Maybe I find someone who cares about the work the way I do, and it makes sense.
But for now, I'm learning to balance these seven hats. Some days I wear one better than the others. Some days I drop a couple entirely and just try to keep the critical ones in place.
The past six months have taught me something important: you can't do everything well every day. You just can't.
Some days, the marketing hat goes in the corner and I focus on fabrication and installation. Some days, I spend the whole day quoting jobs and ordering materials and never cut a single piece of steel. Some days, I realize I haven't posted anything online in a week and scramble to take progress photos.
The key—and I'm still figuring this out—is knowing which hat matters most right now.
If I don't have work lined up, sales and marketing matter more than fabrication. If I'm booked solid for three weeks, I better spend my time in the shop, not chasing new quotes. If my materials don't show up on time, procurement moves to the top of the list.
It's constantly shifting. And that's the hardest part—not the individual tasks, but the constant decision-making about where to focus.
Here's what I'm protecting by staying solo: when you call DG Custom Railing & Fabrication, you get me. When I quote your job, I'm the one who shows up to measure. When I say I'll build it a certain way, I'm the one doing the building. When something goes wrong, I'm the one fixing it.
You're not getting handed off to a crew member who might care less. You're not getting a different guy for installation than the one who did the quote. You're getting 30 years of experience on every single job, start to finish.
That consistency—that's worth something. At least to the customers who value it.
But it comes at a cost. The cost is me figuring out how to be seven different people in one day, and not always doing a great job at any of them.
If you're thinking about hiring me, here's what you need to know:
I might take a day or two to get back to you. Not because I don't care, but because I was in the middle of a weld and couldn't answer my phone.
I might not have the fanciest website or the most active social media. I'm spending that time in the shop.
I might not be able to start your job tomorrow. I'm one person, and I'm booked based on what one person can actually accomplish.
But when I do take your job, you're getting someone who's thought about every aspect of your project. Someone who's ordered the exact materials it needs. Someone who's fabricated it in a shop where quality control means checking my own work. Someone who's installing it with the same care I used to build it.
That's the trade-off. And for some people, that trade-off is worth it.
For others, they need someone bigger, faster, with more capacity. And I get that. I'll be the first to tell you if I'm not the right fit.
Running a one-man fabrication business is harder than I expected. Not the fabrication part—that's what I've been doing my whole life. The everything-else part.
But six months in, I'm still here. Still learning which hats to wear when. Still figuring out how to balance making great work with actually running a business.
Some days I wonder if I'm crazy for doing it this way. Some days I'm absolutely certain I am.
But then I finish a railing that's exactly what I envisioned, install it exactly the way it should be done, and hand it off to a customer who's getting exactly what they paid for.
Those days, all seven hats feel worth it.
Most people don't think about shower grab bars until someone slips. Here's a no-drill solution I've been testing in three Utah County homes—and why I think it might change how we handle bathroom safety.
Read moreThat handrail kit looks fine in the store, but wait until you actually need to grab it. After 30 years building railings, I'll tell you why thickness is the difference between a rail that's there when you need it and one that fails when it matters most.
Read more