Trapped in My Work

I was at a gas station (as I often am with my job). As I pumped my gas, a woman I work with came to ask me if she would be having visitation with her children this week. I told her I didn't know, because she had never gotten back to me about setting it up. The gas station pavilion then turned into a locked, inpatient facility (another reference from work). It was either that or a county jail. I buzzed the people on the outside to have them buzz me out. The woman was supposed to be there, not me. I became gradually more concerned.