Ques: Once, while grating potatoes to make potato pancakes, I had a Proustian moment. I can't lay claim to much in the way of literary knowledge, but I do know that Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' was prompted by his biting into a pastry and feeling a sense of overwhelming pleasure with no recognizable cause. In my case, I was instantly transported back to the grandmother's kitchen as she and my mother grated potatoes in order to make 'poutine rapee', also known as 'poutines'. People will immediately flash to the Quebecker ethnic food known by the same name. However, in spite of all the Franco-culinary posturing, this is really only French Fries with gravy and, oh yeah, can I have some cheese curds on that? One etymological source indicates that 'poutine' really means 'mess'. If you come from my part of the country, the Quebecker poutine is just another entry in the long list of dishes that will cause you to keel over from a myocardial infarction while shoveling a foot of snow out of the driveway shortly after you've retired; sometimes before. Nope, poutines as I know them are a different creature entirely. They seem to be more of an Acadian thing and none of my friends had even heard of them, much less eaten a single one. Because of the work involved, my mother only made poutines for special times: Christmas, say or Easter. My mother would borrow this grater that was about two feet long and she and my grandmother would set to work. Generally, they started off with an enormous paper sack of potatoes, about 25 pounds or so (We used to buy potatoes by the cartload and store them in a wooden bin in the basement. Because we were cheap labour, the kids would be sent down to retrieve a few for the family meal. It was creepy to descend into the dank cellar, feel our way through the dim obstacle course formed by my grandfather's thousands of tools and bits of wood and locate the bin. After a time in storage, the eyes on potatoes began to sprout pale tendrils and it didn't take much imagination to visualize all kinds... Why did she go into the basement? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. to make poutine B. to look at tools C. to retrieve potatoes D. not enough information
Ans: C

Ques: A few times. Mostly whilst doing this job and trying to help drunk people or assholes. Sadly it's becoming a regular occurrence for crews to be assaulted. My last time was a few days ago and the worst thing about it was watching my crew mate and several police officers curl up laughing. I'll set the scene. Imagine. If you will. A large rather expensive hotel. Then add to that image a rather drunk and buxom young lady who is lying on the floor in a drunken slumber after taking off a lot of her clothes. She was just in her underwear. We were called to look after her. On our arrival she was absolutely fine. Stood up, walked to the stretcher and lay down. Whining about how we were the ' oppressors of society', and other such drivel Because I had the cheek to try and give her a tiny bit of dignity by covering her up with a blanket. She didn't want that. We made it to the ambulance without any hassle and started to do the necessary checks we do on every patient. Blood pressure etc etc when out of the blue she decided that she wanted to release her rather large breasts. Try as I might to give her a little bit of dignity she wasn't interested so we just made sure no one could see inside the ambulance. After a few minutes she calmed down so I put the blanket over her. Something I do for almost every patient. Without warning THWACK. she hit my in the face with her boob. Then. As I reeled from this waiting for my brain to catch up and make sense of everything, THWACK she did it again. Right round the face with a large breast!! I turned around to get some support from my colleagues who were crying. Both my crew mate and the officer. Crying. Neither able to speak.. I didn't know what to say for a while after thatsomething my crew mate called 'a blessing' Sigh What is probably true about the policeman? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. Goes to hotels with his crew B. Enjoys similar regular acts with women C. Has a nice rapport with his team mates D. not enough information
Ans: C

Ques: November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." What is true of the man with the car? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. not enough information B. he is rich C. he smokes D. he has a gun
Ans:
C