Adapted from "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the branch
ARCA cash recyclers weren’t whirring, all were balanced and latched;
Deposit slips were silent awaiting their share,
laying ready for customers soon to be there;
The tellers all home, nestled snug in their beds,
while visions of bankers hours danced in their heads.
The branch was all empty, the ATM dark
the drive through was quiet, not even a bark.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
a couple of ne'er do wells stumbled, one skinny, one fatter.
Armed with crowbars and hammers, they wanted that cash
they tore open the shutters and clambered towards the stash.
The moon on the breast of the teller pod’s Solo
Gave illusions of pay-day to the bumbling duo.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a Kaba Mas lock, no entry, not here!
Wielding a little screwdriver, so lively and quick,
it’s no news flash, this wouldn’t do the trick.
More rapid than eagles the crowbars they came,
The pair whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now pryer! Now lifter! There goes my back! My pants are a’splittin.
This safe is tough, it’s not givin’ up, that’s no counterfeitin’!
The recycler held tight, they started to bawl,
“No cash today! No cash today! No cash today y’all!"
Through the open branch they flew, looking for more
Then the epiphany! The TCR had it all stored!
They spoke not a word, rejected, unfit for this bill.
They gathered their tools, and shuffled out to the chill.
Then all of a sudden officers sprang in their way,
"To the pokey you go" they were heard to say.
And just like that they were gone, the cash grab was thwarted
The recycler held strong, the cash safely still sorted.
And you could hear the crooks exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
“That ARCA machine took us down, despite all of our might.”