Funny Best Man Speech for a Work Friend: 3 Full Examples

Evening, everyone. I'm Reggie. For seven years I drove a forklift twenty feet from this man on the night shift, which means I know things about Marcus that his own mother went to her grave not knowing.

We met at two in the morning in a freezing warehouse the size of an aircraft hangar. I was new. Marcus walked over, handed me a cup of tea, and said the single most useful thing anybody said to me all year. He said, the vending machine on aisle six eats pound coins, so don't. Then he walked off. That was the whole induction.

Now, the night shift does something to a man. You stop being normal. By month two, Marcus and I had a fifteen minute argument about whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and we have never resolved it, and we never will, and one of us will mention it at the other one's funeral.

I should tell you about the certificate. Marcus is very proud of being forklift certified. Extremely proud. He laminated the certificate himself. He keeps a photo of it on his phone. Last Christmas he gave the lads mugs with the certificate printed on them, his own face in the corner, like a man running for office. So when he told me he'd booked a fancy restaurant to propose to Steph, I asked him if he was nervous, and he said no, because, and I quote, I'm certified. Mate. That qualification does not cover this.

But here's the thing the night shift taught me about Marcus, and it's the real reason I'm up here. Three years ago my marriage fell apart in the space of a fortnight, and I came into work one night with absolutely nothing left in the tank. I didn't say a word. I didn't have to. Marcus quietly swapped his easy aisle for my heavy one for six straight weeks, told the supervisor it was a rota thing, and every single shift made me two cups of tea and forced me to talk about the hot dog. He never once asked if I was okay, because he knew I'd say yes and lie. He just stayed close and kept the kettle going until I came back to myself.

That's him. He'll bore you senseless about a laminated certificate, and then carry you for six weeks without ever letting you notice.

Then Steph turned up at the staff barbecue, and lads, the man was undone. Marcus, who has worn the same fleece since 2016, came to the next shift smelling of actual aftershave. He asked me whether the forklift mugs were, his words, too much for a first gift. Yes, Marcus. They were always too much. They are too much for anyone. Steph, the fact that you took the mug and kept it tells me everything about how this was going to go.

Watching them since has been the best show on the night shift. She gives him grief about the certificate. He looks at her like she's the only forklift in the building, which from him is genuine poetry. He smiles on a Monday now. We had to ask if he was unwell.

Steph, you're getting a man who will laminate the most boring thing in the room and then save your life without mentioning it. Keep him talking. The good stuff is always underneath.

Marcus, you're the best mate a freezing warehouse ever gave me. Everyone, on your feet, glasses up. To Marcus and Steph. May the road ahead be smooth and the vending machine give your money back.

Hello. My name is Tomás. For five years I cooked shoulder to shoulder with Danny in a kitchen four metres wide, which is the closest two grown men can stand without it meaning something. Tonight I get to talk for longer than the word behind has ever let me.

For those of you who have never worked a Saturday service, picture a small room at fifty degrees, two hundred plates, and a printer that will not stop. Now picture Danny in the middle of it, calm as a lake, while everything around him is on fire, occasionally literally. That is where I learned who this man is.

Danny has one weakness, and the whole kitchen knows it. He cannot, under any circumstances, taste a sauce without declaring it needs more salt. Every sauce. Mine, the head chef's, a sauce he made himself ninety seconds earlier. More salt. We once ran a test. We gave him a perfectly seasoned soup and told him I'd made it. More salt. We gave him a soup that was basically seawater and told him the new chef made it. He said, getting there. The man tastes the label, not the food.

So of course, when he decided to propose to Aisha, he cooked. He spent a week on a five course menu, called me in a panic on the Tuesday, and asked me to come taste the main. I came. It was perfect. I told him it was perfect. He added salt. I watched him do it. Some men cannot be saved from themselves.

But let me tell you the night I actually understood Danny. We had a young kid on the pass that summer, a commis named Olek, eighteen and terrified, the kind of new lad a hot kitchen usually eats alive. One Saturday Olek dropped a whole tray of plated mains on the floor at the worst possible second, two hundred covers in, and the head chef started to turn the colour of a beetroot. Danny stepped in front of the boy before a word landed. He told the chef, loud, that he had bumped the lad's arm, which was a lie, and he re-fired the entire tray himself while still running his own section. Olek never knew it was a lie. He thinks to this day that Danny owed him one. Danny owed him nothing. He just decided no eighteen-year-old was getting broken on his watch.

That's the whole man. He'll ruin a flawless sauce out of pure instinct, and then quietly take the blame for a stranger so a frightened kid can keep his job.

Then Aisha came in. She runs the floor at a restaurant down the road, so she walked into our kitchen one night to borrow a tray of something, took one look at the chaos, and started plating like she'd worked there for years. Danny froze with a pan in his hand. I have seen this man stay calm through a grease fire, and a woman with a clean apron took him out completely. Next shift he asked me if his knife roll looked, his word, romantic. Danny. It is a bag of knives.

Watching them since has been a joy. She tells him a dish is perfect and he believes her, which he has never done for me. He laughs more. He even left a sauce alone last month. I nearly called an ambulance.

Aisha, you're getting a man who seasons everything and saves everyone. Don't let him near your cooking, do let him near your worst days.

Danny, best service of my life was every one I worked next to you. Everyone, glasses up. To Danny and Aisha. May your life together need absolutely no more salt.

Hi everyone. I'm Bridget. For six years I worked the same long-haul routes as Joel, thirty thousand feet up in a metal tube, which means I have seen this man on roughly four hundred mornings he would rather forget. Today he can't go to the galley to hide from me, so settle in.

We met on a delayed red-eye to Singapore, both of us running on no sleep and one bad coffee. A passenger was shouting about his seat. Joel handled it so smoothly the man ended up apologising to Joel, and then thanking him, and I think at one point hugging him. I turned to the other crew and said, who is that, and the answer was, that's Joel, he's like that with everyone. Reader, he was.

Here is what you need to know about Joel. The man is incapable of throwing away a hotel toiletry. Six years of layovers in four hundred hotels, and he kept every single tiny shampoo. He has a drawer. He has, I would estimate, enough miniature conditioner to supply a small town through a siege. He once gave me a hotel sewing kit for my birthday and was genuinely moved by his own generosity. So when he told me he was going to propose to Mei, I asked how, and he said he'd been saving for the ring for a year, and I said, saving how, and he could not look me in the eye, and somewhere in this country there is a hotel missing a great deal of shampoo.

But I'll tell you the flight I think about. A few years ago I lost my dad suddenly, mid-roster, in a city that was not home. I was a thousand miles from anyone. Joel was on a completely different route. He found out, swapped two flights, talked his way onto a standby seat, and turned up at my hotel that night so I would not be alone in a strange place. He sat with me in a lobby until four in the morning and let me talk about nothing. He never made it about him. He never told a soul at work. I only know he moved heaven and earth to get there because the gate agent let it slip months later.

That is Joel. He'll hoard a drawer of shampoo like a dragon, and then cross a continent on standby so a friend does not have to cry alone in a Holiday Inn.

Then Mei boarded. Not literally, although honestly it would suit the story. They met at a wedding, his cousin's, and Joel rang me from the car park the next morning and talked for an hour without landing the plane once. This is a man trained to stay calm in an emergency, completely unable to describe a woman he'd met at a buffet. He asked me whether bringing her a hotel pen on their second date was, his words, thoughtful or strange. Joel. You know the answer. You have always known the answer.

Watching them since has been wonderful. She teases him about the drawer. He looks at her the way nervous passengers look at land. He sleeps on his days off now instead of volunteering for extra flights to avoid being still.

Mei, you're getting a man who saves the smallest things and shows up for the biggest ones. Keep the shampoo. Treasure the rest.

Joel, best crew I ever flew with was just you. Everyone, please stand, glasses up. To Joel and Mei. Wishing you clear skies and one very full drawer.