The Byte Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Not a user was using ... not even a mouse; The programs were hung from the bugs in their code, In hopes that a guru would soon cure their woes; The data were nestled all snug in their beds, While versions of software danced in their heads; The boss dimmed the lights as I locked up my desk, A couple days off and a well-deserved rest; Then all of a sudden there came such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. Away to the processor I flew like a flash, What a terrible sound .. like a massive headcrash; The lights they were blinking and beaming aglow, The hardcopy printout said "Let service know!"; When what to my wandering eyes should appear, On a silicon wafer ... a field engineer; A little device driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Chip! More rapid than Macro, his cursor insane, He whistled and shouted like a video game. Now, Pascal! Now, Basic!, Now, Fortran and Cobol! On RPG! On PL/1, On Dibol and Snobol! To the top of the registers, the bottom of core! Run diagnostics and see what they store! As memory leaves when electricity flies, The 'Rep' cracked a smile and loosened his tie; He was chubby and plump, said the place was a wreck, And I laughed when I saw him (in spite of high tech). A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He was dressed from his head to his feet in a suit, His briefcase was heavy with tools to re-boot. With bundles of bits bulging out of his slacks, He looked like a pro 'bout to fix a blown pack. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Reseated PC boards, then turned with a smirk; Hit return with his finger and said "Here it goes," And giving a nod, into the CRT he dove. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere leaving the site, "Restore the data, and all will be right!"