My family used to have the village shop in a tiny farming village in rural Lincolnshire. And because it was so distributed, my dad used to do deliveries in the van. Farmers and their families would phone through their orders, and make a date for delivery.
On weekends, as a young Sasquatch, I'd go with my Dad and help him carry boxes and bags. This was great, as I got to go round all the farms, play with all the kids and be shown all the animals.
One day, we were visiting a farm, and the farmer's wife introduced my dad to her mum, who was visiting. She said her mum was the local fortune-teller, at which my dad smiled politely and said "How interesting." or some such.
He didn't believe in any of that rubbish. A more mundane and normal setting could not be imagined - a workday farmhouse kitchen, plain wooden table, muddy boots by the door.