I have to tell you guys - yesterday is the first time since my arrival to the UK that I’ve answered the door when takeout arrives.  I let my husband do that stuff, since he’s got the cash usually and I’m a big baby when it comes to both strangers in general and tipping in the UK.

But the time must come when you get shoved out of the nest, I guess.  Mr. Tea realizes that the best way to bribe me is usually with booze, so he ordered dinner, left me cash and headed out in search of vodka.  The delivery guy showed up a literal five minutes later (love you, Nice and Spicy!) and it was do or die.  

After a few, “Hello love, it’s £16.39, love,” sentences, he handed me my change and was gone just like that.  I didn’t even have time to think about what I should give him.   Pizza guys at home usually linger for a few minutes so you have time to tip them, but obviously it’s totally unexpected here because he was halfway up the sidewalk before I could even make sure I had the right change from him.  

Still, I can’t help but still feeling a bit guilty about it today.  I don’t think I can remember a single instance in my life where I didn’t tip for food at home, especially delivery, so it was ultra weird to me to just take my food and go.  Pretty sure tipping is one of the hardest cultural divides for me.