Tea, biscuits and melting thoughts

A conversation you don't often overhear in the coffeehouse:

"I've just had satsang."
"Who with?"
"Joe from around the corner."
"Joe? Who is Joe?"
"You know Joe. He is often out and about with his dog. He's a bus driver."
"Joe's not a very exotic name, is it? Aren't these folks that give satsang normally called something exotic, like 'Mango-ji'? What kind of satsang does he give? Does he do chants and stuff?"
"No."
"How about humpback whale music and Tibetan bells?"
"No, I can't say I've heard him play that."
"Does he wear exotic clothes or silk shirts and call you 'my love'?"
"No, just normal clothes, like you and me and he calls me by my name."
"Does he mention the Maharshi in dulcet tones and remind you that he's in his lineage?"
"Not that I've noticed."
"How much does he charge?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? How can you make money doing satsang if you don't charge? He can't be very good!"
"Hmm! it must cost him money because he always offers tea and biscuits to his visitors. Lovely homemade shortbread that his wife makes. Or sometimes lentil soup. Or even a sandwich. At the very least you'll get a cup of coffee. And all those questions you think you need answered just seem to melt away."
"Funny business that. Giving satsang and not getting paid."