I went for Pizza. Mainly because the delivery place lets me order over the internet. Tragic, eh?
After an age, there was a knock at the door.
He: "Ere's yer pizza, Mister"
Me: (internal) "Stop with the fake cockney accent, I know your Mum, and she's posher than the Queen"
Me: (external) "Thank you. What do I owe you?"
He: "Er. 17 quid, mate"
(yes, I selected a drink and some upsetting chicken pieces containing random bits of bone)
Me: "Here's a 20"
He: "Oh, right. S'pose you want change, yeah?"
Me: "Er.."
He: "Only the coins is in the car, right?"
Me: (internal) "Of course I want change, you little git. Unless you promise to spend the money on soap and a decent deodourant, I want change. Thats over a pint of beers worth of change there. And driving the half mile from the Pizza place, running down countless adorable furry animals, consuming fossil fuels needed by Soccer Moms to put in their absurd Jeep things, and still managing to deliver the pizza in a state that can only be described as 'cold' does not merit a 20% tip. I want my change."
Of course I didn't say that. I never do.
Me: (brightly) "Its ok, you keep the change. Have a drink on me."
He: "Ta"
Sigh.
