input with options: Happened to me while visiting Chicago a few weeks ago. A young couple with a baby in a pram boarded a crowded bus. The bus driver would not pull out of the stop until the pram was secured in the wheelchair chocks, however an elderly women wouldn't give up her seat (seat needed to be folded up in order to make room for the pram in the wheelchair holding apparatus). We sat there for about 45 minutes while the driver, the mother and the elderly lady argued. At the end, my wife and I offered our seats (more like a commanding, cajoling, what-she-wanted-to hear, kind of discourse), and the lady moved into our seats. The young couple locked down their pram, and the bus took off. Meg and I stood for the rest of the trip. She was really annoyed over having to move, and there was some baggage attached to her situationI hate to have to mention the racial aspects here but it's an important aspect of the story. Most of the passengers were younger white folks (bus was heading through a neighborhood where re-gentrification had taken place). The elderly woman was at least 75 years and the only black person in the front of the crowded bus. She was sitting in a designated seat reserved for elderly or handicapped, and obviously she had earned her status to claim that seat. Unfortunately, it was also the one seat that needed to be vacated if the wheelchair equipment got used. As the bus rode on, her anger simmered. She asked me what I (middle-aged white guy) would do in a spot like that. All I could answer was to offer it up to God. Hot day, no air conditioning on the bus, people just want to get to their destinations. Question: What did Meg ask her husband at the end? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- If he would have given up his seat.
- What he thought.
- not enough information
- What he would have done.
output: What he would have done.

Q: It's often difficult to remember how or why you became friends with someone, especially if you've been friends with a person forever. But because of the very specific set of circumstances, I remember exactly how Barend and I became friends. This, of course, was long before he became famous for inventing the easy-foldable map, and infamous for the series of bodies he'd decided to bury in his backyard. Barend and I became friends because he had one of the most attractive shadows I'd ever seen. I remember gazing out over the playground, watching a waning sun scatter its dying light over the monkey bars, the metal skeleton contrasting against the turquoise sky, when I noticed this kid coming toward me. He was one of those mostly invisible characters; faded jeans, dirty jacket, snot caked on his upper lip. I probably wouldn't have noticed him if not for his shadow. For some reason, his shadow immediately caught my eye. Now, I'm not one for noticing shadows in general, never really noticed a shadow before or since, but this kid had the most incredible shadow I'd ever seen. I cannot even put in words what that means. What specific set of properties make an ordinary shadow into an incredible one, I'm not sure anyone can, but his shadow was like a piece of art; I didn't necessarily understand it, but I liked it. And that's why this boring looking kid and I first became friends. Our kindergarten games were harmless and boring, but when puberty hit, Barend began to change. We were both expected to change, but I guess some kids just change more than others. Bared didn't want to kill at first. Like many overachievers in the death game, his first brush with the craft came about more or less accidentally. All the elements had been in place, with all the players and attributes coming together as if gathered by some evil force, but, even then, I really had to push the kid. Question: Who had one of the most attractive shadows the author had ever seen? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- himself
- not enough information
- another kid at the playground
- Barend,

A: Barend,

The swinging doors slammed open. Cedric looked over from where he was sitting on a lab stool, chewed thumbnail between his teeth. His shoulder length blond hair was coated with the shine of someone who has only wet their hair down and not washed. His red streaked eyes were a sure sign of his having been recently woken up. He watched Dorian backing his way through the doors pulling a gurney behind him. "Dorian," Cedric said, then immediately fell silent as Dorian turned around. There was panic in Dorian's eyes and a waxy pallor beneath the stubble on his face that betrayed a lack of sleep. "Dorian," Cedric said again, that one word betraying multiple emotions: a layer of fear spread over top concern for his friend, concern for his own wellbeing, and simple anger at letting himself become involved in this. "Hook her up," Dorian said before moving to a lab stool of his own and sliding a keyboard across the table to rest in front of him, his fingers impatiently tapping the spacebar while he waited for the monitor to respond. With a hiccup of light the screen became active making Dorian's face even more hollow with its sickly glow. He was normally a handsome man with short brown hair that was always perfectly combed. Tonight, though, it was full of unruly licks and his white lab coat, which usually added to his presence as the overall leader of their research team, was cast by the computer's light into awkward shades of green and blue. A large coffee stain down the front appeared to still be wet. Cedric didn't respond. "I said hook her up," Dorian said. "Dorian," Cedric said for the third time. "I said hook her up!" Dorian screamed and Cedric jumped forward to the gurney. Coffee stain or no coffee stain, Dorian was a commanding presence. Question: Dorian's labcoat was covered in: === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- blood
- not enough information
- bleach
- coffee stains

Answer:
coffee stains