Q: I went over to a guy's house to see a movie that he had acted in. It was our first date. He starts the movie and I settle back to watch. I was in film school and the guy, Nick, had told me he wanted my "professional" opinion. We're five minutes into the movie when Nick reaches for the remote and says, "Let's fast forward to my part." I reply that, in order to adequately critique the movie, I should see it from the beginning. Nick assures me that his scene is self-contained and needs no context. A fight scene plays. Nick pauses and asks, "What did you think?" I look confused and Nick says, "Did you miss me? Let's play it again." I watch the scene again, but still can't make out Nick. Nick rewinds, plays and pauses. "There I am," he says, gazing fondly at the screen. Except the screen was gray. No actors. No landscape. Nothing, but gray snow. "What do you think," he asked, his eyes never leaving the empty screen. At that point, I realized Nick was crazy. "That's great!," I said. "But look at the time. Time sure flies when you're having fun." Nick was still staring at the screen with a strange little smile. I stood up. Nick stood up, now not smiling. "You're not going anywhere," Nick said. It's funny how fear works. I've found that in times of danger, adrenaline supersedes fear. I managed to trick Nick, hide from Nick and finally to escape after more than an hour of suspense. Turns out it wasn't even Nick's place. He had taken me to the house of someone he had ripped off in a drug deal. I am very wary now of going to a guy's home unless I know him extremely well. Who owned the apartment the author had been taken to? A. Nick's roommate B. Nick's parents C. A guy Nick had ripped off D. not enough information
A: C

Q: Aage Llievang tried explaining to his mother, but she shook her head. "Now, Aage. Really. Your own car? A car? What would the other co-op members think?" "Mom, this is a classic! 1952 MG-TD. It's even--" "British Racing green... yes, Aage. I know. Your father knows. Your grandmother knows. We all know about the car." "But Mom, look." He waved his Handy at her. The MG glowed on its small screen. "There's one up for auction on carsforsale.com and I'm too young to bid. You've got to help me." "Aage!" She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Your age is not the problem. You can't even afford it." "I'd pay you back." How could he explain his fascination with the Vehicular Age to her? The seductive sheen, the rumble, the combustive power of automobiles called to him like a siren at sea. He coveted the sense of possibility inherent in the turn of a key. And the MG-TD held a place high in his list of hope. British Racing Green, wood dashboard and a four-stroke engine. He had only seen one MG-TD, when he'd gone on holiday with his folks to the U.K. They had been walking down the street in downtown London. Most of the traffic had been pedestrian or cyclist. The occasional fuel-cell car glided by like a ghostly leftover from the Vehicular Age. Double-decker biodiesel buses roared past regularly, trailing the odor of fish and chips after them. And then it came down the street toward them. A car that purred as its rounded lines soaked up the sun with a green so deep it was almost black. It pulled into the valet parking of a grand hotel and two people got out. Aage barely noticed them. He stared inside the car, where chrome and brass gleamed against a burled wood dashboard. The doors of the car shut with the heavy thunk of real metal. A valet pulled the car out of the parking circle and Aage never saw it again. How long has Aage been talking about the car he'd seen on holiday? A. not enough information B. Since the day he saw it C. Since never. This is the first he's mentioned it D. Since he was one year old. "1952 MG-TD" was the first word he ever learned
A: B

Q: What are the worst examples of false advertising you've seen? Did you fall prey to their claims? Rather that vouch for myself - my story is trite, and not particularly interesting - I'll relay the tale one of my nurses shared with me when I was laid up in the hospital for a few weeks. Call her R. R was from an Eastern European country. We chit-chatted a lot, while she was taking my blood pressure readings and stuff. Lots of fun stories! But she relayed to me one of her first U.S. memories: She wanted to lose weight. She was impressed by some things the U.S. had to offer - "you have actual nutritional information on everything!" - and thus figured everything she encountered was on the level. And she found a "miracle cure" company who was along those lines! "These are AWESOME miracle shoe inserts! Wear them, and the pounds will melt away!" She saved her pennies and dimes; she sprung for the inserts. She received them... and they were shoe inserts; that much was true. But then there was their documentation: "using these insoles, combined with a 1200 calorie-per-day diet...." Like a 1200-calorie diet won't likely involve weight-loss, no matter what else you did, shoe inserts aside. The inserts did nothing, obviously. It was a sham. At which point she knew she was snookered, but really had no recourse. She wasn't explicit about it, but I got the feeling that it was a leading factor towards her chosen profession. "I might not have been the most sage medical person ever, but I'm gonna rectify that, and if ever I hear someone falling for that sort of gambit again, I'll be there to nip those sentiments in the bud with my own anecdotes." Which is awesome. I still feel for her. I wish I had contact information, so I could touch base, and express those thoughts personally. But that's the most personally resonant version of false advertising affecting someone that I've seen. How much weight did R lose? A. 10 lbs B. none C. 25 lbs. D. not enough information
A: D