by Jim Baker


‘Twas the night before Christmas

In August, ‘tis known.

Not a tourist was stirring;

No sound from the phone.


The restaurant was empty

And so was the bar.

The cabins were quiet

‘Neath the light of the stars.


The housemen and maids

Were all snug in their wee little beds,

While visions of molly carts

Rolled through their poor little heads.


Mike Nelson lay dreaming

Of cabins and sheets,

While Mark, Bill and Doug dreamed

Of cuts of real meats.


When up in the Lodge

There arose such a clatter

Doug sprang from his bed

To see what was the matter.


Away from his cabin

He flew like a flash,

Tore into the kitchen

And stopped by the trash . . . cans.


Each waiter and waitress,

In wild, frenzied glee,

Was hurling the dishes

From grill to pantry.


With little old sledges

So lively and quick

They were turning the kitchen

Into one mangled wreck.



Their frustrations pent up

From days serving dudes,

They cheered as Maureen and Scott

Hurled more food:


“The beef stew, chopped sirloin

And hamburgers, too -

Unpack them and stomp them

Into thick, ugly goo!


“From the hot turkey sandwich

To the spag and meatballs.

Jump on them!  Trample them

Till we’ve destroyed them all!”


Doug covered his head

And was turning around

When down upon him

Don came with a bound.


Kathey tied him with rope

From his head to his knees

And his cries were soon muffled

By toast and grilled cheese.


With fries from the bags

They had slung on their backs

They pelted him purple,

Though he fought the attacks.


“Have mercy!”  he pleaded.

“Have mercy!  I’m begging!”

They answered in chorus,

“This man needs an egging!”


The stump of a little lead pipe

Frank tied in his teeth,

And the rope went around and around

And around his waist like a wreath.


Matt brought out three cases of eggs

From the second-walk-in,

And they smashed and they bashed and they dashed

And they mashed those eggs all on him.


There was egg on his face

And egg on his belly,

Then they hit him with ham

And servings of jelly.


They squirted soft drink in his eye,

Dumped creole on his head

A chocolate cream pie

Each waitress let fly,

Followed close by Eddy’s bread.


Doug spoke not a word

As he sank to his knees

To beg them for mercy,

But he slipped on some peas.


He crawled ‘cross the floor

In a pitiful state

To cut off the ropes

With the edge of a plate.


Doug woke from his dream,

And he said between shivers,

“If I’d kept dreaming on

They’d have cut me to slivers.


“I’d heard rumors they would,

But, a-a-ah, it’s just talk.”

So he went back to bed.

Just then came a knock.