Who tips the postperson, milkperson and dustperson at Christmas?

Our postie was a leggy Kate Middleton look alike with a flashing smile, humming a tune usually, and I would have
invited her in for a mince pie and a rummage, when the wife was out. Not seen her for months now, and we've got
a huge black lad who's previous job must have been cow strangling, opening the door to him when he has a parcel
is like facing up to Lennox Lewis. If he asks for a tip he's getting a score off me, no question.

Racist.
 
Genuine question here for the people who tip the postman, (and to the OP who seems to be one)...
Why in your view does this job in particular warrant the extra payment at Christmas?

The bin men can piss right off, you couldn't find a more miserable set of dangerous driving, jobsworth unhelpful bastards if you tried.

It's not really an extra payment is it? I mean you (as in the mail recipient) don't pay me anything throughout the whole year. I get paid (not a huge amount) by Royal Mail. However, it could be construed as recognition that on 6 days of every week, 52 weeks of the year, in rain, wind, snow and shine I have to walk down your slippery front path, dodging low flying branches, kids toys, dogs and cat shit and up to your front door, and perhaps bend down to ankle height to prize open your spring loaded finger trap of a letter box and try and get a waste of time and space letter through and into your hallway. A small monetary offering at Xmas time as a thank you for performing this thankless task means a great deal.

By way of general feedback, the festive season being more or less over for another year, I can report that the populace of north Brighton are even stingier and scrooge like than the good burghers of Bluemoon. Out of approximately 600 calls in one of the wealthiest parts of Brighton I was tipped by 6 addresses i.e. about 1%, which is pretty pathetic if you ask me.

I actually organised a street collection for our postie and got him over £70. It was actually a useful and instructive exercise. I go to talk to neighbours that I had never talked to or even seen before, and almost to a man/woman they all said that it was a lovely thing that I was doing and that that they were only too happy to contribute.

What all this means for society I have been musing on and will post later, if anyone is interested, as my NYE's turkish kebab is calling ...
 
It's not really an extra payment is it? I mean you (as in the mail recipient) don't pay me anything throughout the whole year. I get paid (not a huge amount) by Royal Mail. However, it could be construed as recognition that on 6 days of every week, 52 weeks of the year, in rain, wind, snow and shine I have to walk down your slippery front path, dodging low flying branches, kids toys, dogs and cat shit and up to your front door, and perhaps bend down to ankle height to prize open your spring loaded finger trap of a letter box and try and get a waste of time and space letter through and into your hallway. A small monetary offering at Xmas time as a thank you for performing this thankless task means a great deal.

By way of general feedback, the festive season being more or less over for another year, I can report that the populace of north Brighton are even stingier and scrooge like than the good burghers of Bluemoon. Out of approximately 600 calls in one of the wealthiest parts of Brighton I was tipped by 6 addresses i.e. about 1%, which is pretty pathetic if you ask me.

I actually organised a street collection for our postie and got him over £70. It was actually a useful and instructive exercise. I go to talk to neighbours that I had never talked to or even seen before, and almost to a man/woman they all said that it was a lovely thing that I was doing and that that they were only too happy to contribute.

What all this means for society I have been musing on and will post later, if anyone is interested, as my NYE's turkish kebab is calling ...
6 days of every week? Underpaid?

I suggest...

Walk in at 6.30. Tea. Supposed to be sorting for 40 minutes but go for shit. And fag. Prep frame. Complain about the amount of parcels. Tell boss you are cutting off. Work out extra hours for staying out. Finish at 2pm. Go to the pub.

Close?
 

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