It's a small, interconnected, weird little world

While talking to James on the phone today, the call waiting beeped and the caller ID showed that it was my editor. I'd called her earlier in the day, but hadn't left a message. Apparently my name and number showed up on her caller ID. Here's the madness that ensued.

Me: James, can I call you back? It's my editor. ... Hello, this is Jennifer.

Male Voice: Um, I thought I was calling James Simpson.

Me: That's my husband.

Male: Is he there?

Me: No, he's not. Can I take a message? [At this point, I'm thoroughly confused.]

Male: Oh, well my name is Nick. My wife ordered a piece from your husband and I wanted to check on it.

Me: Um... I know your wife. I'm a writer and she's my editor.... What did you say she ordered from my husband?

Nick: Doesn't your husband make ceramic art pieces?

Me: No. He sells cell phones.

Nick: Oh. [Now Nick is equally confused.]

Me: I called your number earlier today looking for your wife.

Nick: Oh... I swear there's an artist named James Simpson who makes ceramics. My wife ordered a ceramic fish from him.

Me: Oh! I think there's an artist in Pittsburgh with a name similar to that. He hosts the Gist Street Reading Series in his studio. I think his name is James Sampson or something.

Nick: Oh, yeah, I have it here. I just saw the caller ID and thought it was him. ...Did you need to talk to my wife?

The ceramic artist turns out to be James Simon.

And to top it all off, my James recognized Nick's name and thinks he sold him a cell phone.

Cue the annoying Small World music!