Last year around this time I had an appointment to see a doctor in Manhattan. When I arrived, the receptionist asked for my address. She then asked me for my insurance card, and had me sit in the waiting room.
A few seconds later, she called me back up and said, “Can you please give me your address again? I think I put the wrong address in the system.” So I gave her my address again.
The woman just stopped and looked up with a confused look on her face. She said, “That’s my address. We live in the same building? You live in East Flatbush?”, to which I responded, “Yes.” The woman laughed and said, “Thank God, because I thought I was losing my mind. I live on the sixth floor, nice to meet you.”
I haven’t seen her since.