I do not fully understand exactly what you are asking so I will restate what I believe you are asking and then I will answer it. What was the best excuse that a student ever gave for having failed to do something? I would have to say that I was most entertained by a student's response to "Why are you late for school?" The student said, "I awoke in time this morning but there was a mouse sitting on the edge of my bed. I looked at him and he looked back. The mouse said to me, 'Go back to sleep' and what could I do? He had a gun." The following has worked a few times too when students refuse to talk. That is, I know that one of the assembled students was the culprit for some activity. When they will not talk, I interview them one at a time while the others are kept away from each other. Then when they are assembled before me again, I say, "Thank you gentlemen. I know who did it so you others are free to return to class." All but one arises and leaves. This works more times than not. For years I have given assignments via email and I have collected assignments via email. Nothing has ever gotten lost this way and things are timestamped. I do not have to make photocopies and even students who are not present the day that the assignment is announced in class, get the assignment in a timely manner. One young lady told me, "I turned it in but you must have lost it." "Okay," I said, "Open your sent folder and show me that you sent it." She replied by saying, "I delete my sent folder to keep from clogging up my email." I told her that I understood and that she could show me an empty sent folder to prove that she was telling the truth. She said, "I lied." What never gets lost? A. Assignments via email B. photocopies C. sent folder D. not enough information
A

A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors. Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again. "I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years." Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes. "Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things. "Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again." "Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of. "No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." What is probably true of Troy? A. He hates alcohol. B. He never drinks alcohol. C. He likes alcohol D. not enough information
C

Marnie Sleightholme was well chuffed when she got the chance to be carnival queen, and she couldn't give a shit if it was true what folk were saying about her only getting picked because she'd had her right arm ripped off. Ever since the accident, Deborah Bullock had been using twice as much make-up to disguise her rage. Marnie being picked as carnival queen had only made her pile it on even thicker. Deborah Bullock told anyone who would listen how it was a complete piss-take to give the job to a cripple. 'Imagine getting a wedding cake covered in frosty decorations and shit like that, but it's already got a big chunk bitten out of it. Well, that's exactly how it is.' Deborah Bullock had dreamed of being carnival queen since more or less the start of primary school. She used to tear their pictures out of the newspaper and dress up to look like them, and tell Marnie she never could because she was too fat and ugly even to pretend. It was Deborah Bullock's on-off boyfriend who'd been driving the car Marnie had been sitting in when it veered off the road and crashed into a tree halfway down Back South Lane. It was pointless trying to hide the truth. There was only one reason anybody went down Back South Lane at that time of night, and the flashing blue lights illuminated the exact location for the whole town to see. When Marnie came round in a hospital bed, the first face she saw was Deborah Bullock's. She felt an ache in her side and blinked her eyes. The room was bare and cold. There was an empty chair in the corner. Deborah Bullock slapped some cheap flowers down on the bed and leaned in. She smelled of talcum powder and nicotine. 'Do you want the good news or the bad news? The good news is you've finally lost some weight. The bad news is, they've chopped your right arm off. So you're still a fat bitch.' Who is going out with Deborah's boyfriend now? A. No one, he died. B. not enough information C. Deborah D. Marnie
B