However, when people thank us for helping out in whatever small way we can, it is always appreciated. Even if it happens to be a tip of the hat, a peck on the cheek or a handshake, it feels good to be respected, beloved, esteemed and cherished.
But what feels really good is when we get gifts. A lifetime supply of jam, for example. When we solved a case for a fruit farmer, his wife vowed to send us homemade jams and jellies for life. Every month a small package containing half a dozen jars of jams and marmalades* arrives, regular as clockwork. And if they're not snaffled by Kip the mail boy, we do what we like to call "getting our preserves on". Clark hits the toaster, Michael whips out the butter and I open those jars, butter knife at the ready. We call on a couple of Unbelievababes and maybe some of the residents of Marissa's Home for Wayward Showgirls and we pig out.
|We be jammin'|
Another time Clark just happened to mention in passing that he loved playing records on tinny old novelty record players cranked up to "distort", and a few days later, this arrived in the mail.
|He was in hog heaven, I'm telling you.|
Michael and Clark will no doubt have tales of other 'little extras' we sometimes earn. But in the meantime, we gotta run... we just got given three tickets to see the amazing Rocky Preston in concert, just for breaking up a black market Christmas sweater syndicate. All in a day's work.
*I love marmalade, by the way.