Of course I say, "Have a nice day" to people. I worked in retail for a spell, so it's a reflex, and besides, it's as American as apple-pie-flavored pork rinds (why do these exist?).

Unfortunately, it's not exactly the right comment when you are the obituaries editor and you wish to bid a respectable farewell to a man whom you've just helped boil down into five paragraphs the life of his late wife of 55 years.

"Thank you for your help," I remember him saying.

"You're welcome," I said, taking his extended hand and shaking it while trying to do that flat-lipped, I'm-smiling-but-I'm-really-not-because-this-is-not-a-happy-occasion smile, then added, "Have a nice day!"

Fifty-five years of marriage. Four children. Five paragraphs. Four more hours until the obituary would appear in print.

Click here to read about Elizabeth's mortifying faux pas.

Yeah, have a nice day.

I am such a jerk, I thought.

The man must have seen me wince, and gripped my hand a little tighter.

"I'm -- I'm so sorry," I fumbled.

"It's all right," the man said, giving a heartbreakingly good-natured grin.

I know that even though the phrase is mainly slung about by professionals on auto-pilot, it has well-meant origins. It has its place. I mean, I don't know if there's a better way to conclude a consultation. There's no list of acceptable farewells. "My condolences" sucks. "I hope everything goes smoothly" is too pragmatic. What else is there? "Best of luck?"

"No, really, I am sorry. I didn't mean that," I said.

"Well goodness," he replied. "I hope you meant it."

My jaw twitched as I tried not to let it drop.

"I'd like to think I'm still entitled to a nice day," the man said, and winked at me before heading out of the office.