I realize it is commonplace, maybe even expected, to decry how much everything costs. Inflation is a necessary byproduct of an economic system predicated on the wonders of compound interest. But just as often I am amazed—nay, astounded—by just how cheap stuff is.

The day it hit 102 degrees in Boston, our ice maker stopped working. Of course, we were having folks over for a birthday celebration. And of course, we ran completely out of ice. (Though not until the end of the party—thank the summer party gods.)

A residential ice maker is a completely expendable frill. The amount of ice two people need can easily be accommodated with a few ice cube trays. Even if we had to purchase a bag of ice for the occasional 100+-degree party, we’d use far less energy than running the ice maker 24/7. Yet, having an ice maker is one of my favorite indulgences. Makes me feel like I live in a permanent hotel.

The next day, when it was merely ninety, we realized the fridge’s water filter needed to be replaced. After we changed that out, ice should start spitting at us again. Only it didn’t. The ice bin remained empty, forlorn. Perhaps the problem was worse, in which case we’d have to wait for our appliance repairman; an excellent chap though prone to long lead times.

Maybe I could just buy a few old school ice cube trays. We hadn’t had those in years, but how much could they cost?

I go to Target.com. $3 for two trays. Okay, I’ll get four. I select the quantity, the color and click, ‘pick up in two hours.’ The computer tabulates my bill. I expect $6 plus a contribution to the governor. But no, I get a $5 coupon, plus my customary 5% off for using my Red Card, and my total bill is…$1.43.

Next morning I go to Target and the cheery customer service rep hands me four very serviceable ice cube trays. On the walk home I decipher the economics.

Somewhere in the Middle East, or Russia, or Alaska, or Venezuela, some oil is pumped out of the ground it. It gets tankered to China, flowed through some pipelines, or into a truck, and delivered to a factory. In the factory, the oil is mixed with various emulsifiers, solidifiers, and dyes, souped into a slurry that’s injected into molds. Once cooled, two trays are stacked as a pair, adhesived together to form a single unit, loaded on a freight container, railed back to port, put on another tanker, and shipped to the good old US of A. Most likely Los Angeles or Long Beach, our nation’s premier container ports. Containers in Long Beach are craned directly from ship to rail car, and sent East. Most likely my ice cube trays go to Target’s East Coast Distribution Center in Bergen, NJ.

Once my trays reach the Garden State, things get dicey because, up until now, I’m pretty sure no human hands have touched these useful objects. They’ve travelled over 10,000 miles, but still have 220 to go. At the Bergan warehouse, they are differentiated from the thousands of other items loaded into a trailer headed to my Watertown store. There’s a good chance at least some parts of that transfer require people, though you’d be a fool to bet they are white people.

Once my trays arrive in Watertown, there are definitely people involved. The guys offloading the truck, stocking the shelf, collecting the items for my two-hour pick-up, and then smiling at me when they hand over the goods.

All of that effort makes $1.43 seem like a very good price, but don’t forget there’s a whole other component to this transaction: the web side. Someone had to photograph my ice cube trays, write up the description, note what aisle they occupy in my store and include them in the computer inventory when made ready for sale. Another part of the web noted when the store staff retrieved my trays and modified quantities available for the next ice querier. The web also calculated my price: I guess I need to thank those folks who, for reasons unknown to me, decided that $6.43 was entirely too much to pay for four ice cubes trays, and so they gave me a $5 coupon.

Thank you, Thank you, Oh ye Gods of Capitalism.

By the way, shortly after I returned with my quartet of well-travelled ice cubes trays, the ice maker kicked in of its own accord. I guess it had just needed a rest. So now I have motel ice once again, and ready backup trays, should I ever have the need. They will survive in my basement for decades, well beyond my own expiration date.

Stay cool!