The hallway past the break room became my kitchen

The hallway past the break room became my kitchen

I was late for a meeting at the office and couldn't find the right room. The hallway past the break room went on longer than it should, same carpet, same fluorescent buzz, doors I half recognized. I opened one and it was my kitchen, except my coworkers were already sitting at the table with their laptops. My manager looked up, but her voice was my mother's, asking if I'd remembered to lock the front door. I checked my bag for my keys and phone and kept pulling out the same folded note, blank every time. Nobody seemed angry. They just waited, watching me search, and the longer I stood there the more sure I was that I'd already missed whatever they needed from me. I woke up checking the nightstand for my keys.