In the cosmic scheme of things, this was relatively minor. But very annoying. I had met a woman. Actually, at 19, she was still a girl. I lived in Pittsburgh. She lived in London, Ontario. She was, to put it bluntly, hotter than hell. On top of that, she's one of the sweetest, nicest people you were ever going to meet. Needless to say, I was quite smitten, and quickly arranged to spend a week in London with her. When I showed up, she was wearing very interesting pajamas. At least for a few minutes. Unfortunately, my two cats, who had never spent a night in my home without me being there, were, less than impressed when I didn't show up by 5 PM the day I left, despite having arranged for one of my parents to come over each day to feed them and make sure they had water, etc. Playing with them was optional, but neither would show themselves during that week. Nothing looked amiss on the first floor to Mom or Dad. The food was eaten, the water, apparently drunk, etc. When I got home and went upstairs I found something quite different. There was a trail of toilette paper strewn all over the hallway. My pillow was in the bedroom door and shredded. My alarm clock was on the floor. The power cord had been pulled from the wall and chewed through. There were severaluhmmm "presents" in the middle of the bed, where they had pulled the sheets back. Some of them were still wet. I figure that trip cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $1k to repair the damage. So I did what any 24 year old would do when faced with that situation. I cleaned up, went to bed, and went back to London a few weeks later. But I cat proofed the house first. (Yes, they still lived with me for another 12 years before passing away.) Like I said, she was wearing very interesting pajamas when I got to London. At least for a few minutes. Question: After the story the parents probably Options: A. apologized to the writer B. not enough information C. went to meet the girl D. had a good laugh === The correct answer is
A

TL:DR: I un-professionally get mad at a customer and verbally slam the door on her way out. I was working a shift at a chain cafe one afternoon in England, it was during the lunch rush, so we had a back up of customers lined up to the exit. See the problem with the chain is that all of our customers mostly range from midlife crisis to half-a-foot in the grave, so once a customer lines up, they don't leave and they extend the queue. Plus this is a chain cafe so I've got a manager who's constantly on my back to speed up because someone is on her back to drive numbers up: this results in the line putting stress on my air-hostess smile, but they don't call it work for nothing. Now I'm not the only one stressed, a customer lines up during lunch, they're hungry and wish that Euclidean laws would suspend themselves so that they did not have to deal with the fact that I can't deal with a customer at the speed of light. Well one eldritch horror declares that my coffee took too long and does her rendition of the 1933 Hitler speech to the rest of the customers with an addendum that she will take her business elsewhere. Now my chain are pretty big in England, so if a customer wants to slap me around with a 'customer is always right' the script dictates that I do everything in my power to make sure they come back, and Cthulu knows this, well: I'm stressed, I don't like her face and she's given me an opportunity for me to give her the polite 'fuck off'. All I say is 'Good' and move on to the next customer. Hitler-lite phones my corporation to voice a complaint, so a suit comes out and asks the team who did it, I fess up so I can save the time and not have a reason to hate one of my co-workers. I get a lecture and a warning, the end. Question: What kind of person did she compare the angry customer to? Options: A. A scientist B. A strict dictator C. A barista D. not enough information === The correct answer is
B

*Question*
The office smelled like money. Brand new carpet, somebody's expensive perfume still hanging in the air. The chairs in the waiting room are leather and the copy machine has a million attachments and there's pictures on the wall that I don't know what they're supposed to be. Made me ashamed of the shirt I was wearing, the cuffs all frayed and some of the buttons don't match. The secretary is a knockout and I figure Dennis has got to be getting in her pants. Red hair and freckles and shiny skin that looks like she just got out of a hot shower. A smile like she really means it. My name was in the book and she showed me right on in. Dennis shook my hand and put me in a chair that was slings and tube steel. The calendar next to his desk had a ski scene on it. Behind him was solid books, law books all in the same binding, also some biographies and political stuff. "Too bad you couldn't make the reunion," Dennis said. "It was a hoot." "I just felt weird about it," I said. I still did. It looked like he wanted me to go on, so I said, "I knew there'd be a bunch of y'all there that had really made good, and I guess I...I don't know. Didn't want to have to make excuses." "Hard to believe it's been twenty years. You look good. I still wouldn't want to run into you in a dark alley, but you look fit. In shape." "I got weights in the garage, I try to work out. When you're my size you can go to hell pretty quick. You look like you're doing pretty good yourself." Charlene is always pointing to people on TV and talking about the way they dress. With Dennis I could see for the first time what she's talking about. The gray suit he had on looked like part of him, like it was alive. When I think about him in grungy sweats back at Thomas Jefferson High School, bent double from trying to run laps, it doesn't seem like the same guy. Question: Where is the ski scene in the office? Options: A. On the calendar B. On a cover of a book C. On a picture on the wall D. not enough information === The correct answer is
**Answer**
A