Oscar shakes Matt's hand, saying it was nice to meet him and calling him "Mark." "I know what I'm doing, Pam," he tells her. Doesn't it work better on guys without their names sewn on the front of their shirts? Dwight drops a walnut down the chute of his machine, turns the crank, and gets a perfectly cracked nut out the other side. Michel grins as Dwight rhapsodizes about the nuts he can use this on, going on to, "Clams, snails..." Then Michael goes to sit on Phyllis's lap to ask for an Xbox, a compatible TV and "I'm sorry." Phyllis accepts the apology, Santa-like, "Because I've decided you're a good boy." Right then is when Bob Vance from Vance refrigeration walks in, loaded for bear in his own Santa suit and demanding to know what's going on. Phyllis says it's resolved, and they make with the PDA. "Get a room, Santas," Michael says.
In the tag, everyone's walking out together when suddenly they're greeted by an entire uniformed drum corps. "Twelve drummers drumming," Pam realizes. Andy steps in front of them with a pair of cymbals and dances along, wishing Erin a Merry Christmas. Everyone smiles, but no one as much as Erin. Way to pull it off there at the end, Andy.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at m.giant[at]gmail.com.