‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and all through Cummings/Riter,
Not an employee was working, not even Christin, Viv or Deb at the typewriter.

The coffee mugs were neatly hung by Jackie in the kitchen with care,
In hopes that St. Dunkin’ soon would be there.

Geologists Doug, Matt V., Jill, Cam, Dean and Raine were nestled all snug in their Carhartts,
While their minds could think of nothing but Microsoft Excel charts.

And Pat in his ‘kerchief and I in my wool sweater,
Had just settled down to write the monthly PR letter.

When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
Matt K., Rich, Rob, and I sprang from our desks to see what was the matter.

Away to the conference room I ran on a hunch,
Meeting Marty, Chris, and Mike to see if there were leftovers from lunch.

The glow of the kitchen on the clean, empty sink,
Gave the luster of mid-day to mugs from which we drink.

When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear from the trees,
But a miniature drill rig, and eight hungry employees.

With a little old driver, so lively and filled with spunk,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Dunk’.

Quicker than vultures the employees all came,
As he whistled and belched and called them by name.

“Now Bruce, now Brendan, now Dee and Chad!
On Ben, on Jeff, on Tara and Brad!

From the top of the garage, to the equipment room!
Now dash away, dash away, vroom vroom vroom!”

And then in a twinkling I heard in the hall,
The chewing and gnawing of each employee’s lower jaw.

So as to not be seen, into the work room Jon H., John M., and I steered,
Then out from the men’s room, St. Dunkin’ appeared.

Dressed not in red from his foot to his head,
But proudly showing off his plaid C/R boxers instead.

A bundle of donuts he had flung on his back,
And as he got hungry he helped himself from his pack.

His eyes how blurry, his horn-rimmed glasses how thick,
He sang the praises of donuts, how they’d keep you from getting sick.

With a wide-open mouth lined with metal-capped teeth,
And the beard on his chin was as green as a wreath.

He had a round face and a big pot belly
That shook when he laughed like a donut filled with jelly.

He was clumsy and weak, your average joe nerd,
And I laughed when I saw him flap his arms like Ken Bird.

A wink of an eye and a scratch of his feet
Soon let me know he had a deadline to meet.

He ate a donut real quick and then went to his work,
Reorganized the file room, and stole a plastic fork.

When he finished, he looked around for some fudge,
Put his hand in a pocket and pulled out some sludge.

As he raced by Terry and DJ in CADD, he tried to steal a two-foot sub,
But they chased him out because they said it was for Bubb.

But I heard him exclaim as he ran towards downtown,
“Merry Christmas to All, I’m Going to Hunterstown!”