I am not my coworker's keeper

People frequently stop by my desk. Not because they want to see me, but because they want to talk to the people who sit near me....people who happen to not be at their desks at that particular moment.
The stymied person-seeker then scratches their head and looks around, as if expecting their absent colleague to suddenly spring up from behind their desk and yell "TA-DA!!". The seeker exhales impatiently, taps their foot, glares at their watch, and then turns to the nearest coworker....who happens to be me.

"Have you seen so-and-so? When will they be back?" They inquire, staring at me with scrunched-up Eyebrows of Confusion.

"Oh, they're in the men's room giving hand jobs." I'll mentally respond while shaking my head 'no'.

"Yeah, they had to go pick up their Klan robes at the cleaners" I may inaudibly add, or perhaps even (not):

"So-and-so? Oh didn't you HEAR? They died in a freak gardening accident on Sunday"

One time, a visitor to the office merely bellowed "MEN"S ROOM" at me. More of a statement than a question, really. Did I go to grad school to be a men's room pointer-outer? I think not. Fuckers.