Adrian Monk: You must have ten different soaps here.
Gilson: Exactly ten, sir. Yes, sir.
Adrian Monk: Oh, my.
Gilson: Ah, that's from China, sir. The Gansu province.
Adrian Monk: Very nice. Oh, may I?
Gilson: It's Peruvian cotton, sir. They're hand-woven.
Adrian Monk: I didn't think people like you- I mean, attendants, still existed.
Gilson: Ahl, we're a dying breed, sir. Some people would consider this work beneath them, but, I enjoy it. My father used to say, "Gilson, there are no small jobs, there are only small people." Here you go.
[A man takes the towel from Monk's arm to dry his hands and then offers him a tip, which Monk proceeds to put in his pockets.]
Gilson: I believe that's mine, sir.
Adrian Monk: Yes, I'm sorry. That would make more sense.