"That'll be $9.87." Rebecca Ranghorn flipped up the top of the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took bite. The young secretary behind her looked on in disbelief. She was so ready for the weekend. But first she had to get to the office and put in her lousy eight hours. Why couldn't this woman just pay and get out of the way? Rebecca tossed the box at the clerk. A couple of donuts flew out and fell on the floor behind the counter. "Those are yesterday's donuts. I told you to give me the fresh ones." "But, ma'am, these are the fresh--." The look in her eyes stopped him cold. He dumped the box in the trash and picked out a fresher dozen. "Now, that'll be $9.87, please." "Keep your drawers on, Jack." She sampled the new batch. "That's more like it." She threw a ten dollar bill on the counter and walked out with her donuts and large bottle of orange juice. Her enormous black 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car was four feet longer and twice the weight of the young secretary's Toyota Corolla parked next to it. It was costing her a fortune to drive her dad's old car. But it made her feel close to him--even though he had been dead for eleven years. She rarely had an occasion to drive out of town--and it was not a big town. Sherman, Texas has about 36,000 residents. She pulled into the old strip mall parking lot. Most of the stores and other businesses were barely hanging on. The place hadn't seen decent shopping traffic since the 1980s. But it was the perfect location for Rebecca and her partner. They didn't need shoppers. All they needed was cheap office space. Theirs was narrow, but deep, with a reception area, two offices and a bathroom. Question: What is most likely true about Rebecca? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- She loves stale donuts
- She hates stale donuts
- not enough information
- She dislikes donuts
She hates stale donuts

I normally do not post certain types of things on my blog or on social media, like political messages, but today I feel compelled. I've been thinking for the last few days about the most recent school shooting in Parkland, and my overwhelming emotion right after grief is rage. I am so angry it makes me cry and for those of you out there who know me, angry-cry is the end-stage, top-of-the-gauge level of angry for me. I am angry that as a nation, we continue to wring our hands and bemoan each mass shooting but we don't take any action to stop the next one. I am angry that our elected officials have failed us in the most spectacular way possible by being unable to work together or to set aside special interests to protect the lives and safety of Americans, including our most vulnerable citizens, our children. I am angry that time and time again, we the people and our elected officials weigh the value of human lives against countless other things (Second Amendment, special interests, party disagreements, inertia, whatever) and the value of human life comes up short in the calculations. I am angry at myself for believing at any point in the last several years that I could trust lawmakers to address this epidemic and I am angry at myself for feeling so helpless that I have not personally taken action. This stops now. I am angry that in 2012, 20 6-7 year old children and 6 adults were murdered in Sandy Hook and in the 5+ years since, we have done nothing meaningful to stop this. To me, this is tantamount to saying that we as a nation are OK with this. I don't think we are, but that's the message we're sending if we don't force our government to do something. According to the New York Times, there have been 239 school shootings nationwide since Sandy Hook with 438 people shot, 138 who died. Question: How long did the author write the text after the Parkland shooting? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- A few days.
- not enough information
- A few years.
- A few hours.

Answer: A few days.

Question: Was it the things she told me or the situation I was in? I was working with someone who, basically, should never have been hired into the job, and then should not have been kept as long as she was. She was entirely inadequate for the role we performed. I was a new graduate and so lucky to get a job in my field, pretty much right out of university. We worked in a small office of three. The third was a sales rep and out visiting clients most of the time. She was, more or less, my superior, though the company made it clear that she was not someone to emulate yet gave me no one else to look to for advice or guidance. She would constantly say "this place will leave you to sink or swim" (amongst other phrases, all along these lines). That's probably the worst saying ever, though I can't really consider it ridiculous because, frankly, I absolutely see why she would say that (for example, I met my manager once during my interview and then the next time was about four months into being hired that should tell you the level of support given). But I cannot even explain to you the way this statement biased me against this company and the job I was doing. I was lost and truly believed that I couldn't do any better (because I was sinking and couldn't figure out how to swim on my own). Yes, you may have issues in whatever job your in but to tell a newbie that they have to figure it out on their own that's pretty ridiculous. If this is something you hear or think and asking others for help or finding a supportive environment is not an option try replacing it with "learn to fly on the way down". At the very least, you won't have such a negative frame of mind. Question: What role did she have? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Supervisor
- Sales rep
- Secretary.
Answer: Supervisor

"Because all of you of Earth are idiots!" shouted Tom, wearily wiping the glass counter, removing coconut oil from the reflections of overpriced candy bars. Inside the theater the movie echoed him: "Because all of you of Earth are idiots!" Tom sighed, not for the first time that evening. The Manager, who paid in cash every Sunday, had decided to take advantage of the bizarre tastes of his Generation X clients and offer an Ed Wood film festival. Bride of the Monster, Plan 9 From Outer Space, and Night of the Ghouls ran on the second, smaller screen on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, two bucks a head. The Manager was making a killing. Tom, who needed the job in order to move out of his parents' trailer home, found little about the Ed Wood canon amusing, although it was light-years beyond anything by Coleman Francis. Even so, Tom had been forced to hear the dialog of each film, on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday... He only had to watch them once, having filled in for the Manager's weasel-featured nephew/projectionist Neoldner, who had called in sick to buy grass in Beloit. But he would have been able to forget the experience had it not been for the penetrating soundtrack which bled into the lobby. The ordeal, for tonight, was almost over - the concession stand closed after Plan 9. He hoped he had sold enough to keep his job - there was the worry that the Manager would increase his profit margin by manning the concession stand himself. But the Manager strolled out of the second theater with a broad grin, revealing his cutting overbite. "I don't know why," the Manager exclaimed, "but they love it!" "Most of them are from the 'Ed 9 Film Society,'" Tom replied. "By the way, I need to restock the chocolates." Question: After working that shift, Tom would likely === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- reveal the whereabouts of Neoldner
- keep his job
- quit his job
- not enough information
keep his job