Twas the night before Cfx-mas, when all through the agency, the wi-fi was fast, not one bit of latency. Chairs were pushed under their desks with care, in hopes that next week our clients would be there.
The creatives were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of Creative Cloud danced in their heads. And Chris in his ‘kerchief, and Megan in her cap, never settle their brains, never heard of a nap.
When straight from my cell phone arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to my laptop I flew like a flash, powered it up and entered my pass(word)…
A notification on the inbox of my company account, with the luster of work, there’s no time for that now. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a holiday email, and one full of cheer.
"Now, Nick! now, Tyler! now, Adam and Wesley! On, Chris! On, Megan! on, Amy and CC! To the creative team, who has earned some time off! Now run away! Run away! Run away all!"
As clients check out before Christmas day comes, we break from the keyboards to type with our thumbs. Posting on Facebook like, “What’s there to do?”, with Friday off work, and Monday off, too.
And then, with a sound, I heard on my tablet, a Facebook message, I checked it by habit. I began reading, and then heard a sound, down the chimney St. Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, in one hand his iPhone, in the other his Nook. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, it looked like a man purse, or something like that.
His eyes-how they twinkled! Reflecting the screen! Santa got a “Like”, and boy those eyes gleamed! The corners of his mouth were drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a vape pen held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a plaid shirt and a moustache and bells, he said, “Milk and cookies? I’d rather have Rebel Yell.”
He was a new age Santa, a hipster let’s say, you likely wouldn’t notice on any other day. A bite of the cookie and one sip of bourbon, and Santa’s sled started a-swervin’.
He mumbled some words, and went straight back to work, and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a ”suh dude”, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, pulled up GPS, and away he flew to appease all the rest. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,