Problem: OPTIONS:
- musician
- asleep
- not enough information
- mechanic
Q: November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." According to the above context, answer the following question. The main character is:
Answer: mechanic

Problem:OPTIONS:
- Calm
- Nervous
- not enough information
- Relaxed

Paul knew that the plan was insane and probably illegal. Certainly the stuff he'd been helping Chloe and her gang of followers do for the last few hours was technically illegal. He'd asked them why they were helping him, what did they hope to gain? They'd told him that this is what they did for fun. Chloe assured him that they "lived for this kinda shit." Ok, fine. He could sort of see that. Once he was there, helping them come up with the plan and then actually carrying it out, it sure as hell was exciting - probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done. Now that he was home and alone with his misgivings and paranoia, it all seemed like a really stupid idea. If it weren't for Chloe and her mesmerizing enthusiasm, there's no doubt that he wouldn't be doing this at all. But it was too late now. Or was it? It was five in the morning when Paul got back to his apartment. He'd told Chloe that he wanted to get a few hours sleep before the big meeting, but he now realized that there was no way he was going to be able to relax. When he'd stepped out the door twenty-two hours earlier he'd still had his job and was looking forward to a showing the rest of the art team his new designs for some of the higher-level monsters he wanted to add to the game. Screw that, he thought, they're my monsters now. I'll use them somewhere else. It could never work. How could it? Right then and there Paul decided that he was going to call the whole thing off. It wasn't too late. They hadn't done anything yet that wasn't reversible. No one had been hurt. No money had changed hands. No one had been lied to. If he called it off right now he could just move on and try and put the whole, sorry state of affairs behind him. According to the above context, answer the following question. How is Paul probably feeling at the end of the story?
****
A: Nervous

input: OPTIONS:
- Returning her purchase
- not enough information
- Happy with her purhase
- Regretful of her purchase Now, answer this question: I will never own a Chanel suit. It is unlikely that I will ever own a (genuine) Chanel handbag. However, a Chanel nail polish was definitely attainable. Whilst they are ridiculously expensive compared with most other nail polishes ($AU39), they are still much more affordable than the $AU1,000,000,000 a handbag costs (or so I estimate as I have never actually priced one). After seeing swatches of Peridot online, I knew that baby would one day be mine. The other two polishes in the collection - Quartz and Graphite - did not excite me the way Peridot did. That was until I read this review of Graphite on the Polish Police. Suddenly, Graphite was on my radar. It was stuck in my head like an ear worm; another baby, soon to be adopted. I argued with myself for about a month on whether to get these polishes or not. Could I really spend nearly $80 on nail polish. It did seem rather excessive to me. Then, Myers sent me a $10 voucher for my birthday and I got a $30 voucher for doing a survey so the decision was made. For $38 of my own money (less than the cost of two OPI's!) I became the proud owner of Peridot and Graphite. Here is my review of Graphite. Graphite is the most stunningly intriguing nail polish I have ever owned. In the bottle it looks a little bit dull and boring - grey and bland. But on the nail it is completely different. In some lights it is silvery, others a more gun metal grey, and in others it has almost a goldish tone to it. It is super sparkly, yet is not a glitter polish - though in saying that it appears more glitter than shimmer. It is quite opaque. Two coats and you can't see the nail line. In the photos below I have actually applied three coats (plus an addition two top coats of clear) because I was going to a wedding and I wanted it to be perfect. But ordinarily two would be sufficient. According to the above context, answer the following question. After the purchase, the customer is likely:
A:
output:
Happy with her purhase