It was a Tuesday in late October 2024. I was sitting in my office at the Manitowoc plant, staring at a spreadsheet that didn't add up. We needed to replace the ice machine filter—a routine task—and simultaneously evaluate five quotes for our electric vehicle fleet charging stations here in Manitowoc, WI. Two unrelated projects, but both were blowing my annual procurement budget in ways I hadn't anticipated.
I've been a procurement manager for a 200-person engineering company for six years, overseeing about $180,000 in annual spending across shop supplies, OEM parts, and facility equipment. I'd like to think I'm pretty good at spotting hidden costs by now. That week, I got schooled by a crane fly, a popcorn bucket, and a question from Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?
Our break room has a Manitowoc ice machine—one of those cube-makers that never seems to quit. But the filter was overdue for replacement. Standard procedure: order OEM filter, swap it, done. I've done it a dozen times. This time, the vendor I'd been using for years suddenly quoted $67 for the filter—up from $42 the previous year. I figured I'd shop around.
I called three suppliers. Supplier A offered $39.95. Supplier B offered $44.00. Supplier C quoted $41.00 with a note: 'Setup fee waived if you order by Friday.' I almost went with Supplier A. Then I read the fine print: $39.95 was the filter element only, no housing gasket, no shipping, and no tax. After adding those: $39.95 + $8.50 gasket + $9.95 shipping = $58.40. Supplier C's $41.00 included gasket and free shipping—total $41.00. That's a 30% difference hidden in line items.
Here's something vendors won't tell you: the first quote is almost never the final price for ongoing relationships. But if you don't ask for a total-cost breakdown, you'll pay extra. What most people don't realize is that 'standard' pricing often excludes consumables you literally need to make the product work.
Meanwhile, our fleet manager wanted to transition to electric vehicles. We had to install Level 2 chargers at our Manitowoc facility. I compared three vendors. Vendor X quoted $4,200 per charger (installed), Vendor Y quoted $3,850, and Vendor Z quoted $3,700. I was ready to go with Z.
Then I built my own TCO spreadsheet—something I always do now after a bad experience in 2022. Turns out, Vendor Z's $3,700 didn't include the concrete pad, electrical panel upgrade ($1,200), or permit fees ($350). Vendor X's $4,200 included everything plus a 3-year maintenance warranty. When I calculated the real cost: Z = $3,700 + $1,200 + $350 + (potential repair costs) ≈ $5,500. X = $4,200 flat. That's a 23% premium I'd have paid for 'cheaper' upfront.
I dodged a bullet on that one. Almost approved the Z quote without digging deeper.
Mid-week, I was decompressing in the break room, grabbing a soda. A crane fly—you know, those long-legged, mosquito-looking things that don't actually bite—was buzzing around the light. One of our junior engineers said, 'Ugh, a giant mosquito.' I laughed and said, 'It's a crane fly. Completely harmless. Looks scary but creates zero damage.'
That's when it hit me: hidden costs are like crane flies. They look big and threatening, but they're not the real problem. The real problem is not looking closely. In procurement, the 'crane flies' are those tiny fees—gaskets, setup charges, shipping surcharges—that individually seem trivial but collectively add up to thousands.
People think expensive vendors deliver better quality. Actually, vendors who deliver quality can charge more. The causation runs the other way. When I explained this to my team, I grabbed a popcorn bucket from the snack rack to make my point.
We had two sizes of popcorn buckets: a small for $1.25 and a large for $2.50. I asked the team, 'Which is the better value?' Everyone said the large, because twice the price for twice the popcorn. But the small bucket held 4 cups; the large held 7 cups. Per cup: small = $0.3125; large = $0.357. The small was actually cheaper per unit. The assumption was that larger is more economical—a classic causation reversal. Without looking at unit cost, you'd overpay.
That prompted a question from the intern: 'Hey, do you think you're smarter than a 5th grader? I saw this question on a quiz: If a train leaves station A at 60 mph and another leaves station B at 80 mph...' I laughed and told her the answer involved unit conversion, same as our procurement numbers. Honestly, the way I see it, procurement is just applied arithmetic with consequences.
After that week, I overhauled our procurement process. Now every quote must include a full TCO breakdown. I built a simple cost calculator that flags hidden fees. Over the past 6 months, we've cut 'unexpected overruns' by 40%. The ice machine filter replacement now costs me $41.00 delivered, the EV chargers came in at $4,200 total, and I've saved about $8,400 annually across all categories.
There's something satisfying about a system that works. After all the spreadsheets and late-night second-guessing, finally having a process that prevents surprises—that's the payoff.
In my opinion, the fundamentals of procurement haven't changed: compare TCO, not sticker price. But the execution has transformed because we now have tools and attention to detail. What was best practice in 2020 may not apply in 2025. I'd argue that understanding the difference between a crane fly and a mosquito is a lot like understanding the difference between a bargain and a good buy. Both look similar at first glance—but one will cost you.
Per FTC guidelines (ftc.gov), advertising claims must be truthful and not misleading. That applies to procurement quotes, too. If a price seems too good to be true, it probably doesn't include something you'll need.
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