Today, at work, there were two collections going round. One for the recently dead colleague, and one for the recently married colleague. We've always had collections for illnesses, retirements and deaths, but the one for weddings is a recent phenomenon. I don't mind giving (if I've got it, of course) but the groom is a relatively new employee, and there's been lots of previous weddings while I've worked there, with longer-standing employees who have had zilch in the way of whip-rounds. Anyway, while I was signing the card for the happy couple ( a boring 'all the best to you both'. When it comes to writing on cards, I turn into Carla Lane ie. I can't think of anything funny to write!) my Humour Tourette's kicked in. All I said was that I hope they don't get the cards mixed up and the happy couple get the card that says 'Our Deepest Sympathy' and the dead colleague gets the card that says 'We Hope You're Happy In Your New Home'. I was surrounded by about five or six colleagues shaking their heads and muttering 'I can't believe you just said that!'
I don't think it's in particularly bad taste, and if I was saying it to my dead workmate, if he was still there, of course, he'd have laughed. It's a good job the offended colleagues weren't there when I said (to another colleague who gives less of a fuck) I'd hate to be one of his pallbearers. He was a rather large chap, with the biggest beergut I'd ever seen. Bigger than mine, even! I'm glad the offended workmates weren't there when I was explaining how the undertakers got the lid down over said gut. I know, that was bad taste. I'm sure it's a coping mechanism. I'm not really a sick bastard. Honest! Anyway, after working there for twelve years, I'm sure my colleagues know me well enough to know I don't mean any ill-will. Hope so, anyway.