Funny Retirement Speech: How to Get Laughs, With 5 Examples

For a coworker, from the desk across the aisle (about 90 seconds)

Hi, everybody. I'm Wanda. I've sat across from Stan for eleven years, which means I've spent eleven years watching him open the supply closet.

For those of you who are new, the supply closet on this floor sticks. It has always stuck. Facilities has been up here so many times they have their own chair. But it opens for Stan. Nobody knows why. He lifts the handle, bumps it once with his shoulder, says, "Okay, old girl," and it swings right open. The rest of us just text him. I've personally sent Stan hundreds of messages that say one word: "pens."

He's also the reason half of this floor knows how to read a policy, because he'd walk over, sit down, and go through it with you line by line, and never once make you feel slow.

Stan, we don't know what happens to that door now. I suspect it stays shut out of respect.

So raise your glasses. To Stan, who got us through every stuck door on this floor, the wooden kind and the other kind.

Why it works: the laugh is about a door, the retiree is the hero of the story, and the last line turns the joke into thanks.

For a boss, from someone on her team (about 90 seconds)

Good afternoon. I'm Omari. I've worked for Shirley for nine years, and in that time she has sent me thousands of emails. The longest one was eleven words.

Shirley does not do paragraphs. Shirley does "See me." Shirley does "Fine." Once, after I spent three weeks on a budget proposal, she replied, "Yes, but smaller." I printed that one. It's on my wall. It's the best management advice I've ever gotten, and it applies to almost everything, including this speech.

What took me a few years to figure out is that the short emails were a kind of trust. She didn't explain because she figured you'd get it. And if you didn't, her door was open, and she'd explain it in person for as long as it took. The emails were short so the conversations could be long.

Shirley, I tried to keep this to eleven words. I failed. So here's my reply, and it's short. Thank you.

Everybody, glasses up. To Shirley.

Why it works: everyone in the room has received one of those emails, so the laugh is shared, and the turn explains what the short emails were really about.

For a teacher, from a colleague at the staff party (about 90 seconds)

Hi, everyone. I'm Katya, from down the hall, where for twelve years I've been sending lost kids to Virgil's room, because that's where lost things go.

Virgil runs the unofficial lost and found. It started with one hoodie. It is now three bins, a coat rack, and a shelf of water bottles organized by color. He keeps a log. If you lost a single mitten in this building in the last decade, there is a real chance it's in his room, and he knows the date.

I asked him once why he didn't just send it all to the office. He said the office throws things out after a month, and kids don't always come looking after a month. Sometimes it takes them a while to notice something's missing.

Which is also how he taught. He kept the door open for the kids who took a while.

So raise your glasses, please. To Virgil. Somebody's going to come back for that mitten, and I'll be keeping the log.

Why it works: the joke is about a habit everyone in the building has seen, it never touches his age, and the sincere line comes straight out of the joke.

For a dad, from his daughter at a family party (about 90 seconds)

Hi, everybody. I'm Tilly, the oldest. Dad has been an accountant for thirty-three years, and I'm here to tell you he never once left it at the office.

Every family vacation we ever took had a spreadsheet. Gas, food, motel, and a column he labeled "fun," which had a budget. One summer at the lake he reported at dinner that we were twelve dollars under on fun and would need to make it up the next day. We went mini golfing twice. It was mandatory.

He also checks every restaurant bill. In my whole life I've seen him find an error three times, and each time he was happier than on his birthday.

But here's the thing about that spreadsheet. The fun column was always there. Even the years things were tight, and there were a few, there was a line for it. He made sure.

Dad, I made you a new spreadsheet. It has one column. Raise your glasses, everybody. To Dad, and to going way over on fun.

Why it works: it teases a work habit he brought home, which the whole family can vouch for, and keeps the other parent out of the punchline.

For a firefighter, from the crew at the station dinner (about 90 seconds)

Evening, everybody. I'm Javier. I've worked B shift with Wally for fourteen years, and I've eaten his chili for about thirteen and a half of them, because the first six months I was too new to complain.

Wally makes one thing. It's chili. He's made it every shift he's ever cooked, and the recipe has never been written down. There's a theory it's mostly cumin. There's another theory, which I support, that it's mostly spite.

Every new guy has tried to replace it. Somebody brought in a cookbook once. It went missing. Somebody tried tacos. Wally ate them, said "these are fine," and made chili the next shift anyway.

Here's what the new guys find out eventually. When you come back from a bad call, the kind where nobody says much, there's a pot on the stove. It's always the chili, and it's always hot. Wally made sure of that for twenty-some years without once saying why.

So, everybody, glasses up. To Wally. We'll keep the pot on.

Why it works: the legend is a story the crew already tells, the teasing is about cooking, and the speaker finds the sincere line hidden inside it.