Do you know the Muffin Man? Or Patty Rowe?

Yesterday, Christy and I were driving home from class when my gigantonormous car phone rang (yes, it's a CAR phone - it's the only kind that picks up in the boonies where I live. But I love those boonies, though - no way would I trade them for a big city. But the phone - when I use it, Christy goes, "Hi Zach, it's Kelly!" Ha ha. Make fun of Kim's humongous Miami Vice phone. Hardy har.)

Anyway, the phone rang, and it has this extremely loud ring that I can't figure out how to turn down, so we're both having arrhythmia, but I managed to answer:

Me: Hello? [pulling out the automatic defibrillator, since fibrillation is the "worst kind of news" (tm Dr. Wright)]
Nice Lady: Patty?
Me: (respiratory rate has slowed to below 80/minute now) No, I'm sorry - you have the wrong number.
Nice Lady: This isn't Patty Rowe? I've been trying to find Patty Rowe, and they keep giving me the wrong number.
Me: Nope, I'm sorry.
Nice Lady: Oh. Well, do you know Patty Rowe?
Me: What? No!

I wonder what people are thinking? That the world is so small, that everybody knows everybody, and that I was going to go, "Yeah, she's sitting right here!"? Or that, if you have a similar phone number, you must know each other? Strange. We got a good laugh of out of that, but then again, we were delirious from a coma-inducing pharmacology lecture. Or maybe it was 3 hours of lung pathology. Either one produces delirium.