Jason had been sitting alone at his table, staring at the tall, platinum blonde for an hour. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of kissing her full lips while his hands explored her lean, muscled body. Tonight he didn't need the whiskey to warm him up. But he kept drinking it anyway. She stepped away from the mike, sat her acoustic guitar on its stand, and walked down from the small stage. Jason beat all the other losers to the bar and sat down beside her. "You must be pretty thirsty after all that beautiful singing." How many times had she heard that line? But at age 33, she'd probably heard every pickup line known to man. "Yeah," she said, giving him a quick glance. He wasn't a bad looking guy. Probably a couple of inches shorter than her. At six-foot-two, she was accustomed to that. But a lot of men couldn't deal with her height. They liked to be the tall one in the relationship. Not that she'd had many relationships. Mostly one-nighters. Without her saying a word, the bartender sat a glass of ice down in front of her, and poured her a can of Diet Coke. "Thanks, Joe." She took a sip as he walked away. "I'm Jason." "Sondra," she said, looking straight ahead as she took another sip. "I really enjoyed your music--especially that last song. Did you write it yourself?" "Yeah." "Wow. It was sad, but moving. You've got talent." Here we go, she thought. And I suppose you're a talent agent or a record producer, or you've got a friend in the business. And you'd be more than happy to get me a record deal--assuming I'd be willing to go with you right now to some sleazy motel. "I'm sick of this business. In fact, you just heard my last performance. First thing Monday morning I'm going out to find me a real job. One that will pay the bills." Who was sick of the music business? - not enough information - Sondra - Joe - Jason
Sondra

(Question)
"India is OUR country" The quote we often preach but forget to deliver. I joined a club recently where I met a true Indian. I asked him about the most vivid memory of his life. One morning, as he was heading towards his office, he realized that the road he regularly takes was unusually bumpy. Upon inspection, he came to the conclusion that a truck carrying stones passed by on that road and unintentionally scattered few stones along the way. He believed that the authority of the truck will take care of this later that day. Next morning, the road situation was unchanged with stones still scattered. He parked his vehicle nearby, put on some music and started kicking the stones off the road. Within a few minutes, a school bus stopped by, students gathered around and started clapping for this true Indian. As he turned around, he said "Helping hands are better than clapping hands". As a repercussion, the students started helping this man kick the stones off the road. A task that would have taken hours to be done by one person was completed in a couple of minutes. What a great example of team work! It was this man's discretionary efforts that brought a change in the thought process of the students, India's next generation. We all point fingers and blame one another for societal problems but never act upon it. If this man, a true Indian, would have just blammed the truck driver and went on his way, would the road still be cleared? The next time we point fingers at someone for a social cause, we must keep in mind that that someone is an Indian just like us. Will a true Indian point fingers at an Indian? Are we pointing fingers at ourselves? In the end, we are all in the same team. How long did it take the team to clean up the road? - not enough information - A couple of minutes - More than 2 minutes - A morning
(Answer)
A couple of minutes

Question: I loved the little guy from the day she brought him home. She carried him wrapped in a sweatshirt from the shelter at the corner where she'd been saying for months she was going to go. She set him down on the hardwood floor and he clipped around like a fawn - - clip, clip -- looking through doorways and carefully eyeing us both. He was tiny but he was strong. He was muscular and sleek, like a miniature greyhound, and we both watched intently as he clipped around, soldiering things out and whining under his breath. Miss Tennessee looked at me and smiled and said: "Well honey? What do you think?" And I told her: "I love the little guy." He was never really my dog. He was more like my step-dog, but together we named him Steve. We thought it was funny, giving a dog a man's name like that. But it fit, like Miss Tennessee, which I started just to tease her about being full-grown and long- legged and pretty, but in a tomboyish way that made it both absolutely ridiculous and absolutely plausible that she had ever been Miss Anything. It always made her swallow a grin. Steve's name, on the other hand, made it sound like he wasn't a dog at all, but this little man. Miss Tennessee often called him that: the little man. Steve liked me okay but he loved Miss Tennessee. With me it was man things. After he got snipped or when he was stung by bees, down there, in grass that came up to his chin, he would come sit by me, hoping I'd understand. With her, it was everything else. When she took a bath, he stood with his paws on the side of the tub, and when she went someplace he couldn't go he stood where he last saw her and waited. If she went into a store and left us together in the car, he stood with his paws on the dashboard, waiting and crying and looking at me like maybe I was to blame. What kind of feelings did Steve have for Miss Tennessee? - Very positive feelings. - Ambivalent feelings. - Very negative feelings. - not enough information
Answer:
Very positive feelings.