input: OPTIONS:
- He is not a very nice human being.
- He has marital issues.
- not enough information
- He has mental issues. Now, answer this question: I was once distinctly unsettled by a utility man who called to read the gas meter. We were living in an old house at the time and I was home alone with the youngest child (who was around six months old), balanced on my hip as I opened the door. The visitor looked genuine, dressed in the expected uniform. He was around 6.3 and probably not the most tidily presented utility man I'd met, but I believed him to be genuine and willingly invited him in out of the foul weather. It was pouring down outside, a freezing cold winter's day. As I closed the door I remembered that I should have asked to see his company I.D. , so as I opened the meter cupboard and switched on the light, I politely said, 'Oops, I should have asked to see your I.D. if you don't mind?. He stood there in front of the door and made no move to produce his card or do anything in fact. He just glared down at me in the most menacing way and said in a very sinister voice 'Isn't it a little bit late for that now? What are you going to do if I tell you I don't have it?'. There was an embarrassed silence. He continued to stare down at me without making a move for what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds. He didn't produce his I.D., instead he almost grudgingly read the meter as I looked on and then he swiftly left without saying goodbye. I closed the door and locked it, and then took a while to get my pulse rate back to normal and to realise I'd just learned a very big lesson. Such a creepy individual, I didn't make that mistake again. Question: What is probably true of the utility man? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: He is not a very nice human being.

It's always interesting to read back on why people do things, especially people who end up making a career or a fortune out of the seemingly benign choices they make. Thelma Schoonmaker, the film editor whom my previous post was about was one of those people; she got into editing after seeing an ad in the New York Times. I'm in no way suggesting I'm going to make a fortune, nor that I'm a Thelma Schoonmaker in the making, but I certainly do make a lot of benign choices. Art blogging, for me, was one of those benign choices. I made the decision to start an art blog very randomly, so randomly I'm not even sure where the idea came from. At the time I had been studying a bachelor of psychology for about two years and found myself interested in the subject, but underwhelmed with the lack of creative ideas and media I was being exposed to. I'd always been interested in art and most creative mediums, often recording music or taking photographs on the side. But the pages and pages of white and black scientific journal articles must have got to me, because I found myself yearning for splashes of colour, moving imagery, challenging concepts and undefinable ideas. The next thing I knew I had started an art blog aptly titled: Artistic Expansion and I began spending hours a day searching through the internet for content, often finding my best pieces in the most random places, often not even defined intentionally as 'art'. Over the last two years I must have blogged hundreds of multi-coloured, multi-textured and multi-layered images, accumulated over 2000 followers and consumed more art than I ever had in my entire life. I find it interesting not because of it's success, but because before I started my art blog, I really had no idea how much I did or could love art and once I had made my art blog I couldn't imagine how I ever functioned without it. Question: Why did the author start an art blog? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- because it was a natural extension of psychology
- because traditional media lacked color, moving imagery, and undefinable ideas
- because it was similar to film editing
- not enough information

Answer: because traditional media lacked color, moving imagery, and undefinable ideas

The address I had been given was a flophouse called Casa Salvador in the scummy side of downtown, the part where the city's redevelopment (read: "gentrification") efforts hadn't yet managed to drive out the sundry undesirable elements. I walked inside past the front lobby. I could tell the desk manager wanted to hassle me, but he was too busy arguing with a middle-aged peroxide-blonde woman in a leopard-print top. Her skin was leathery and weather beaten, and I guessed she was the type who was actually a good ten years younger than she looked. I made my way up the narrow staircase that smelled of urine and bleach, going all the way to the third floor. I continued down the dimly lit hallway, past a series of closed doors that muffled the sounds of women faking moans of pleasure. Room 313 was down at the far end of the hall, and its door was already slightly ajar. I knocked anyways, but there was no answer. Pushing the door open just enough to poke my head in, I called, "Hello? Is anybody in there?" There was no response, so I went in and felt along the wall for the light switch. A single weak bulb came on, lighting up the tiny, sparse room with a dim yellow glow. The room was about 8 feet by 8 feet, and the only furniture was a dingy, unmade bed and a metal foot locker. There were no windows, no closet, and no bathroom. As I stepped all the way in, I noticed a wooden baseball bat propped up beside the door. My watch said 6:20 - twenty minutes late for the interview. I sat on the edge of the bed to wait, hoping that maybe my contact had just stepped out momentarily. After a few minutes, a phone started ringing out in the hallway. I let it ring six times with no one answering before I decided to get it - partly in the off chance it was my contact, but mostly out of morbid curiosity as to what kind of business someone would have calling this dump. Question: What did he blindly search along the wall for? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- The light switch.
- The phone
- not enough information
- The baseball bat.

Answer:
The light switch.