a hymn in praise of the people who plow my driveway

I begin to sing of the Outdoor Maintenance Service of Yorktown, speedy and dedicated, bringers of escape from my home trapped in seas of whiteness. You came, O great ones, to my home in the middle of the night, and I smiled as I heard your 4 am machinations in front of my house. O Brian, and your minions of barely-legal immigrant workers, I praise thee. When I awoke, the bright morning sun glistened in my yard, yet the driveway was black as opals, all the snow removed. And the walk shoveled, though you had to work in the dark of night to do it. The pittance I throw before you for your services is nothing, compared to the wealth I accrue by making it into my hourly lab job, through nearly empty highways, ice-covered trees winking at me all the way. Or at least I think I came out even.

O blessed are the gods who finally bring me your reliable services!

Britishisms

Heard in a multi-national state of the company broadcast meeting:

"We're hoping to be seen as the industry's anchors on this. Hopefully not as something else that rhymes with that."