There is nothing freakier than showing up at work 30 minutes late and discovering that there's no one here.
I work with three other people in a large room. It looks like two of them haven't surfaced and the third was here - her copy of the Times is still (metaphorically) warm but she's nowhere to be found. Even my supervisor, the queen of the closed-door policy, has disappeared - there's no light coming from under her door.
So I'm sitting here, thinking: they had to pick today to change buildings, didn't they? For god's sake, why doesn't anybody tell me anything? OK, I was late; I am deeply, tragically sorry, but at least you could've left me a friggin' note without going all twilight zone on me.
I feel like a little kid forgotten at a theme park, except in this case the park is the world's lonliest, coldest, and emptiest. It has also metamorphosed into a warehouse.
Whimper.