Mr. Amy

Some dude with a ridiculous name I won't advertise on the Interweb, used to have my extension before I worked here. Apparently, before he quit he booked a conference room on the sixth floor for all eternity. We have a serious shortage of such rooms in my office, so everyday is a battle, a constant struggle to usurp the throne of the One Who Had Enough Time on Her Hands to Book a Room Before Five Minutes After the Meeting Started. So people call me all the time trying to steal this room I don't even want, and I answer the phone, and they plunge ahead with their plea as if I were clearly a dude. Even though I'm pretty secure in the girliness of my voice? (Yes? No? Is there something I don't know?) And let's also note, they're usually sitting no more than two cubes down from me and can simultaneously hear my voice both on the phone and in real life, full of despair at the daily trials I must endure.