Preoccupied with Reservations

My company's process for conference room scheduling is an organized riot. I recently called the "Hoteling Department" to book a conference room. This department is manned with an elite force of operators specifically trained to keep track of reservations. I gave my name, employee id, first born, and reservation time. Once the laughter subsided on the other end of the line, the operator ensured me that my reservation would never see the light of day.

You want a conference room? You're hilarious!

Through deductive reasoning, I concluded that the operater did one of two things with my reservation 1) nothing or 2) double booked a room for the ga-gillionth time, whatever they were inspired by at the moment.

Inevitably, it's time for the meeting and I hold my breath while approaching the conference room. Shocker, other people have squatted on the reserved property. Shocker again, the squatters are smug gentleman from a higher pay grade. I have to pop my head in the room and probably resemble a puppet to those inside. I politely tell the gentleman that the space is reserved.

If you're not inside, you're outside.
Corporate Joe, get outside of my conference room.

One of the silver-haired gentleman responds in a polite but firm tone that I must be mistaken. According to their records, they have successfully booked the room. Oh, I see, prison rules, that's cool by me. The only way to solve this is to call Hoteling and see what they have in their records. Unfortunately for me, no one picks up. Hoteling notices the conference room extension (which is never good news) so they don't answer the phone.

It's a conference room number! Quick, everyone under their desks!

As we collectively listen to the ring through the speakerphone I feel the weight of their stares getting exponentially heavier with each passing second. I finally hang up. Either the Hoteling Department double-booked the room or the edgy corporate clones never booked a room, squatted, and are lying to me with impressive poker faces.

We officially have a Mexican standoff.

My options are rapidly diminishing. All I have left is my quick wit which I deftly use in the response, "There must have been a mistake, sorry for the disturbance". I briskly walk out the room. Yeah, take that sucka's. I don't hold back when it's prison rules.

Defeated but not demoralized, I scan the adjacent conference rooms to see which ones are empty. Jackpot! This isn't the adequate size but it will do. So me and my fellow employees huddle inside. Once everyone is settled, we look like a Seattle ticketbooth for a circa '92 Pearl Jam concert.

Who has the agenda?

The meeting begins and I respectfully address my peers in corporate speak that would put most humans to sleep while standing up. In the middle of one of my oh-so ordinary sentences the meeting is interrupted by an intern. Her head pokes in the side of the door like a puppet.

Apparently this intern booked the room in advance. That's strange? I respond in a polite but firm tone that she must be mistaken. According to my records, I have successfully booked the room. She is more than welcome to call Hoteling if she likes. I even pick the phone up and dial. The weight of her venomous stare is like a feather in a helium balloon compared to my previous experience.

She shuts the door. I begin to speak again and realize that I have become one of "them" and a smile reluctantly curls up on the side of my face.