Happened to me while visiting Chicago a few weeks ago. A young couple with a baby in a pram boarded a crowded bus. The bus driver would not pull out of the stop until the pram was secured in the wheelchair chocks, however an elderly women wouldn't give up her seat (seat needed to be folded up in order to make room for the pram in the wheelchair holding apparatus). We sat there for about 45 minutes while the driver, the mother and the elderly lady argued. At the end, my wife and I offered our seats (more like a commanding, cajoling, what-she-wanted-to hear, kind of discourse), and the lady moved into our seats. The young couple locked down their pram, and the bus took off. Meg and I stood for the rest of the trip. She was really annoyed over having to move, and there was some baggage attached to her situationI hate to have to mention the racial aspects here but it's an important aspect of the story. Most of the passengers were younger white folks (bus was heading through a neighborhood where re-gentrification had taken place). The elderly woman was at least 75 years and the only black person in the front of the crowded bus. She was sitting in a designated seat reserved for elderly or handicapped, and obviously she had earned her status to claim that seat. Unfortunately, it was also the one seat that needed to be vacated if the wheelchair equipment got used. As the bus rode on, her anger simmered. She asked me what I (middle-aged white guy) would do in a spot like that. All I could answer was to offer it up to God. Hot day, no air conditioning on the bus, people just want to get to their destinations. Question: How long did the squabble take place? Options: - 3 hours. - not enough information - 5 minutes. - 30 minutes. === The correct answer is
30 minutes.

(Question)
I have waited tables, but before that, our friend group were regulars at several local "open all night" establishments. Our favorite was the Denny's about ten miles outside of downtown Savannah, and we had a regular waitress that was AWESOME. As a side note, I met her several years later and found out we were a major help putting her daughter through school. We had one kid in our group who was a perpetual problem, a wannabe at everything. He just tried too freaking hard to be the center of attention. Well, he joined us ONCE in a trip to Denny's. I mean we pulled up in six cars, all packed to the gills at 3a.m. and took up almost half of the restaurant. We get done, our favorite waitress drops the check, and this goofball says something about "dine and dash." We all just looked at him like he had grown a penis in the middle of his forehead and was trying to screw anyone within spitting distance with it. This kid wasn't driving, it would be a ten mile walk through neighborhoods that were questionable during the daytime, and he is talking about not just stiffing our favorite waitress on a tip, but walking out without paying? Are you kidding me? "Ryan. If you do that, you will be left beaten and bloody in the parking lot and EVERY ONE of us will participate." He hanged his head and coughed up his share of the bill, but he still didn't leave a tip. She made over five bucks a head in tips every time we walked in the door. Several of us were servers, bartenders, bouncers, and a couple strippers. Tips were how a lot of us put food on the table, and chemicals in our system. We shared when we had a good night. Needless to say, Ryan never joined us on a run to Denny's again. Question: What was the name of the person that suggested to "dine and dash?" Options: - Ryan's friend. - Ryan. - not enough information - The waitress. === The correct answer is
(Answer)
Ryan.

Ques: As a mother, I'm right now navigating the hardest moment with my two daughters and my son I was raped at 15 and molested by a teacher from 1516 it took 13 years of fighting before I saw any justice for those crimes and it paled in comparison to having to live with that trauma for the last 25 years. I thought I had moved past it for the most part, thanks to supportive family and lots of counseling and medication to treat my treatment resistant depression I've struggled over the last 25 years. I will be 40 this year. My son, the oldest, turned 15 this year the same age I was when it began. I see how young he is and recognized for the first time just how young I had been when I was abused. That was really hard for me, emotionally. Now, I look at my two girls, ages 9 and 3, and worry for their safety - probably more than I should, but understandable given what I went through. We have had lots of "body safety" talks and my older daughter understands the very basics of what I went through, mainly because I have spent a great part of this past year writing a memoir about my experiences and have begun speaking publicly about what I went through and what it means to be a survivor. This is challenging because it's hard to talk about and explain to a child in a way that they understand without making them fear the world. I struggle with this often. I've chosen to use it as an opportunity to teach them about activism and the power of speaking the truth, what it means to be a survivor instead of a victim. I hope they grow up and see just how strong their mother is and how she has worked in the community to raise awareness and help others. Question: Who suffered abuse? Options: - her daughters - not enough information - The author - her son === The correct answer is
Ans: The author

Ques: I thought I might get some good ideas if I went down to the hospital. I always have stayed away from hospitals. People died or were born. But now I thought I might get some idea if I went down to where it was all happening, the being born and the dying. Mostly the dying. It was the dying that interested me. I sat on a bench in a sort of waiting room. I wanted to call it a green room; it wasn't a place where the patients would wait to be called by the doctor; it was a place where the relatives would wait while the patient was in their room. It had a coffee bar, and comfortable couches, with trendy, muted colors on the walls and floor. Everything was clean and modern without being cold, a homogenized balancing act designed to keep everyone calm during their stressful time. It was a green room; patients were "guests"; their families were "guests" as well. Here was where the families would sit and be feted while they waited to be called out to perform, to smile and encourage or to don faces of appropriate mournfulness. The old ones would put on smiles, the young ones would look sad. I think I went there because it seemed to me that it was the place richest in emotional impact. It reeked of spent emotions, and the emotions were made all the stronger, here in the green room, by the efforts at suppression--the muted walls and gourmet coffees and scones, the overstuffed loveseats and couches, as if those in grief should not be permitted to sit on benches or folding chairs. It absolutely reeked of hush and hidden feeling. It was worse than a church. It was worse than a highschool hallway. It was more universal, more basic, something even the children could comprehend. Question: Did the author enjoy the coffee and scones? Options: - not enough information - No - Somewhat - Yes === The correct answer is
Ans:
not enough information