"Listen everyone. It's Kelly's birthday. Are we having a collection?"
I don't know about you, but one thing that always got my goat when I worked in offices was the collections. Somebody
having a birthday or leaving, getting married, giving birth, passing a driving test, having a colostomy bag fitted...
any old excuse really. There seldom seemed to be a day when an envelope wasn't being smuggled around the place.
It used to drive me mad, particularly when half the time you hardly knew the person but neverthelessfelt pressurised
to follow the crowd.
Here I present for your delectation a sketch originally written for radio. A clearly annoyed male worker has been lumbered
with the task of taking the dreaded collection envelope around.
THE OFFICE COLLECTION
by Alasdair Murray
SFX: JANGLING OF COINS IN AN ENVELOPE BEING SHAKEN.
MALE VOICE: (whispering) Psssst. Want to put into Kelly’s collection?
FEMALE VOICE: Sorry?
MALE VOICE: (still with lowered voice) Kelly’s collection? It’s her birthday? Apparently she wrote it in big letters
in the office diary, underlined it and coloured it in using a highlighter pen so that no one would forget. The sad cow.
FEMALE VOICE: No, you’re alright thanks.
MALE VOICE: (still quietly) Oh go on. I hardly know her myself, but even I put a couple of bob in, well 50p actually.
I have a sliding scale – 50p for people I don’t really know, a quid if I sort of know them but don’t like them, two fifty if
they are OK and a fiver if I reckon I might be in with a shout at the Christmas Party. I mean, it’s a bit of a moral dilemma.
really. After all, why should you give money towards someone’s birthday when you barely know them?
FEMALE VOICE: You're right, you shouldn’t.
MALE VOICE: (getting louder, he goes off on a rant) Yes, but you do don’t you? Because if you don’t, word gets round that you’re a
bit of a killjoy. People remember. Plus of course you miss out on the cakes. And lets face it, if cakes are up for grabs you might as well
have one, otherwise you just stand out like a sore thumb. Truth be told, I don’t even like poxy cakes. I mean why can’t we go for a pint?
That would be a much better idea. And then there’s the cards. I don’t know about you, but I find it hard enough buying cards for relatives,
let alone ‘colleagues’ Think about it. You’re literally tipping beer money down the drain! And what do they end up with? A bunch of
rubbish messages about how they are getting fat and old, some crap references to their sex life, receding hairline or lack of teeth
and how they should go out and get rat arsed. It only goes in the bin the next day, or taken home for a certain person’s partner to
question why one girl has signed off with love and kisses – the jealous cow. Sod the cards and inappropriate present, just give me
the cash equivalent - at least I won't have to take out a mortgage to buy chocolate fucking éclairs for the greedy, insincere, cake
grabbing bastards! (pauses for breath) So, what do you say? Do you want to put into Kelly’s collection?
FEMAIL VOICE: (firmly) No! Thank you.
MALE VOICE: (very loudly) Oh go on, don't be so bloody mean spirited.
FEMALE VOICE: I am not mean spirited. I am a very giving person.
MALE VOICE: (even louder and angrier) Oh really? Do a lot for charity do you? Run the race for life? Sit in a bath full of beans for comic relief?
Wear a poxy red nose and walk around behaving like a twat all day? Screw Cancer research, screw Pudsey bear and screw bloody
red nose day. Come on, put some money into Kelly's collection you tight wad!
FEMAIL VOICE: No, and that’s my final answer.
MALE VOICE: (incandescent) Why not you miserable, sour faced, stuck up, uncharitable skinflint?
FEMALE VOICE: Because I am Kelly.
END