It's axiomatic that all cultures reserve a special place for food in their daily and social lives. For something as simple as a cuppa joe, we schedule and juggle our time to meet at predetermined locations to share conversation and libation. Meals require even more effort and the social ramifications increase. One is expected to show up on time, sometimes dress to certain standards and bring one or many bottles of wine as a thoughtful gift to the hosts. And of course, the food is just an excuse to get together with friends to enjoy a meal, share stories, to discuss or seduce, to seal an agreement or act as a prelude to a severance of relations (frequently unintentionally). I was first introduced to dining for pleasure as opposed to sustenance while at the University of New Brunswick. I lived in Bridges House, one of the men's residences. The young, eager, bright-eyed students in each residence were kept more or less in check by a Don. Each residence had its share of maniacs and troublemakers who were at university to get some form of education, alcohol poisoning or a social disease; sometimes all three. The Don's job was to act as a mentor and prison warden. Imagine a building housing up to 100 young adult men. It doesn't take much to start a riot. In our case, the Don was Locutus. When we met him, he must have been in his forties but looked to us adolescents to be older than Father Time. He was immediately dubbed 'Grandpa Munster'. With the tender sensitivity of males of our age, we didn't bother to hide this from him and he took it in good humour. In point of fact, Locutus was a great Don; firm when he needed to be and understanding and helpful as appropriate. You crossed this guy at your peril, but he was generally pretty tolerant. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Who acted as a mentor at Bridges House? Options: A. not enough information B. Locutus C. Steinbeck D. Hemingway
B

(Question)
Everyone woke early on the day that Dogland's restaurant opened. Everything that needed to be done in advance had been done: white wire tables and chairs stood on the restaurant's green concrete patio, and a sign painter had lettered each of the restaurant's windows: Doggy gifts and Snack bar and Guided tours and Bring your camera! and Entrance with a stylized hand with a finger pointing toward the restaurant's front door. Ma, Mayella, and Francine had scrubbed the front room and the kitchen "from top to bottom," as Ma proudly announced several times. She wished her mother could come to visit, because she knew the place would never be so clean again. James had mowed the open land, and Ethorne had walked the grounds with a clippers and a knife, saying he had every intention of improving on perfection. Seth had lettered several sheets of poster board with the information that the kennels would not formally open until more dogs had arrived, people were welcome to stroll along the viewing path for free, and please don't feed the dogs. We woke at sunrise. Because this was a special day, Pa left to pick up the workers. Ma dressed us, telling us to stay clean and not to talk to customers unless they talked to us first and to stay by the house and not to get in the way and to always be polite and not to yell or make noise unless someone wanted us to get in their car or go anywhere with them without Ma or Pa saying it was okay first, and then we were to scream for all we were worth. Little Bit didn't want to wear a dress. When Ma asked if she wanted to be a little lady, she gave a decided "No," so Ma let her wear shorts, T-shirt, and cowboy boots like Digger and me. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Who had scrubbed the front room and kitchen "from top to bottom"? Options: A. not enough information B. Ma and Francine C. Francine D. Ma
(Answer)
B

Ques: As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye. "I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek. "Julie, I told you. Darby took the box." "I get that, but--." "The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved. "Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week." "Hey, I told you not to go digging--. " "I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there." So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital." According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: After the end of this story, Dingo is Options: A. irritable B. content C. happy D. not enough information
Ans:
A