Share
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the floor,
The molds were all ready, with parts to make more.
Designs were approved, assembly complete,
The press stood awaiting, the cycle to repeat.
The engineers rested, the moldmakers too,
All hoping the first shots would come out like new.
But just as they started the molding run,
A flash on the parts meant the work was undone.
Alarms began blaring, the press had to stop,
With deadlines approaching, it felt like a flop.
The process engineers and designers appeared,
Puzzling over the mold that everyone feared.
Up strode old St. Nick, with a toolbox in hand,
A seasoned moldmaker, well-known in the land.
His eyes lit up as he surveyed the mess,
Knowing exactly how to relieve the stress.
“Let’s check the parting line, the venting as well,
We may have a mismatch; it’s too early to tell.
And tweak the pressures—too high, I would bet,
This flash can be fixed, so don’t worry just yet.”
His hands moved quickly, his wisdom was clear,
As he worked with the team, solving problems near.
He checked the shutoffs, adjusted the steel,
Ensuring that every cavity would seal.
With a nod to the techs, he gave a command,
“Let’s fire it up, let’s see how it’s planned!”
The mold closed tight, the cycle began,
And out came the parts—every one to the plan.
The flash was all gone, the mold was in sync,
And St. Nick just smiled with a satisfied wink.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, as the mold hummed away,
“Quality parts delivered—right on Christmas Day!”
