An Endless Story about my Job

There is this middle-aged morbidly obese woman down the hall.

(necessary information: in our temporary setting, we all have cubicles with open ceilings and doors and you can basically hear everyone's labored breathing from down the hall.)

Anyway, about five or sex times a day, this woman

(I just noticed I wrote 'sex' instead of 'six,' but am leaving it because my unconscious wants me to do so. Or my finger just slipped)

answers the phone and has an argument with the mysterious

(she just walked by and lookd in at me! Dear Jaybus, she's psychic!)

"Kim" or "Tim." These arguments always sound like this:

"Kim, no. Kim, listen. Open the drawer. It's in there." *pause* "No, I can't come there right now. No, now. Kim. Kim. Listen to me: how much is left? Have you been working on it this afternoon? No. No—no. Kim, lis—goodbye, Kim."

or

"What do you want, Kim? I'm at work, Kim. I'm busy. No. I don't have time for you to be calling me all day. Okay. There are some oreos in the cabinet. Kim—no, Kim. I can't leave right now. Kim—Kim. I'm hanging up. I'm hanging up, Kim. Kim—"

So I've always assumed this is her son or daughter. But really—shouldn't this kid be at school?

Anyway, today, Kim call number 4 or 5 goes like this:

"Kim—Kim, no. Look, I'm very busy. I have work here to do. I can't help you with this all the—no. Okay, those spreadsheets are the drawer. Well, try the filing cabinet. Did you even send out that memo? Just hand it to the secretaries—"

What the F? Is this like..her coworker? Or what?