Deborah Woehr

Since last Thursday, I’ve been working on a contract job, scanning documents. The job is boring as hell, but the atmosphere is the polar opposite from the last place I worked. The people there are very nice and personable, and they enjoy their jobs.

I struck up a conversation with the receptionist this morning, asking her if she has all of her Christmas shopping done. From there, we talked about our families. Then she asked me where I lived. When I told her, her mouth fell open.

As it turns out, she lives on the street that intersects with mine. She moved into her house in 1974, one year after my in-laws moved into the place I’m living in. Her best friend lives a few doors down from me, and she knew the neighbors that used to live kitty-corner across the street from us. Not only that, but she used to see my father-in-law walking his poodles down her street everyday. Both of us were floored.

This reminds me of the way I met my husband. He literally walked through my front door on April Fool’s Day, 1988. One of his buddies needed help moving his girlfriend into a condo I shared with another friend. As we got to know each other, I found out that some of his friends had dated some of my classmates in high school. Had I been friends with those girls, I might have met him sooner than I did.

It’s things like this that make this world seem so small. Now that we’re in an era of global travel and communication, it’s gotten even smaller.