It was after 6 p.m., which is the time the common areas and shopping concourses close on a Sunday evening, the guard said.

Quickly morphing back into our responsible adult selves (ha!) we apologized profusely for the annoyance, explained that we hadn't realized it was closed and promised we'd continue on our way without loitering.

But she didn't leave.

Instead, she started reciting all number of facts about the building. The diameter of the giant wreaths on the inside and outside, what it was like working the night the decorating crew descended on the building. And, did we know, the gold spots in the ceiling are real gold? And the Christmas tree would be delivered soon, courtsey of the Norwegian Embassy.

By the time we cordially parted ways, we were pretty impressed. We memorized the name on her badge and debated how to let her supervisors know how well she was doing her job.

Instead of being rude and obnoxious and short with us, she delivered the noise-and-loitering reprimand kindly, taking the opportunity to play tour guide with a group half of whom had grown up inside the beltway anyway.

Now that, my friends, is the Christmas spirit.