Twas the Night of Submission

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Twas the night of Submission (not the night before) all through the laboratory,
Not a person was resting for the due date was mandatory.
The application was laid out with care,
All in the hope it would be submitted without a snare.

The PIs and SOs all wished they were in bed,
Seeing visions of awards in their heads.
The Dean in her office with the SRA nearby, considered a night cap,
But settled instead on a nice chocolate frappe.

When from the lab came such a clatter,
The SRA sprang from his chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the door he flew like a flash,
Flung it open he did with a clash.

The panic in the eyes of his staff scared him so,
A problem clearly was the cause of such woe.
Had a registration been missed? Maybe an improper budget year?
If they didn't get this right, it might cost him his career!

So together they looked through the forms lively and quick,
He saw in a moment a bad DUNS number was the trick.
More rapid than eagles his PIs each other did blame
As they realized their error and hung heads in deep shame.

"Now Come On Guys! Let's see what else is missin'!
On  DUNS, On SAM, no more errors we be wishin'!"
So from the top of the SF424 and through it all,
They scoured the application to avoid another stall.

They finished the review with a deep felt sigh,
They thought they were ready to give it a try.
So up to the top the cursor did flew,
To click SUBMIT was risky at best, they knew.

And then they waited, waited for proof,
Would the submission be good or would it be a goof?
At 4:58, the time had run down,
Success or failure would soon be found.

An email confirmation would quickly be afoot,
Warnings are OK, but errors make it all kaput.
A bundle of tension had crept up his back,
The SRA so nervous, he thought he would yack.

His eyes how they twitched, beady and nervous, and somewhat scary,
His cheeks like roses, his posture so wary,
His droll little mouth drawn up like a bow,
And his hair turning white, white as the snow.

The chime of an email made them all clinch their teeth,
The stress so high they could all barely breathe.
Legs and fingers twitched and shook like jelly.
If this failed, they would all have to move to New Delhi.

Taking a deep breath so he would not ralph,
The SRA clicked on the message despite himself.
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
The message opened and quietly they all read.

They spoke not a word but went straight to the end,
No warnings, no errors, nothing to append!
It was all good, their bodies they unfroze,
They started to talk like they were submission pros.

The SRA sprang to his feet, shooting up like a missile,
With hoop and a holler he told his team "Go wet your whistle!"
They heard him exclaim has he ran out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"