Ok, this one is not missing a class but much better story IMO. When I was in middle school, if you didn't have homework completed or goofed off in some way, teachers could make you stay after school for 'after school help.' It was essentially a mandatory study hall and if a teacher called you out, you had no choice in the matter. Now, I was in Biology class towards end of my middle school career and was sitting at one of those lab tables next to another student. We both had newspaper routes (yes, people actually delivered actual newspapers to people's homes in the 1980s), so it would make us late for our deliveries if we were made to stay after school. This biology teacher would check our vocabulary assignment every week and I totally spaced it this week - Oh Crap! Now, my lab mate had most of his done, but just didn't quite finish. Our teacher is working his way around the classroom checking assignments. So, he checks my lab partner, "well Scott, looks like you will be staying after school today." This fellow student knew I didn't have mine either, but also knew I was a pretty good student. I feel like I am sweating bullets and trembling as the teacher approaches me. In a near panic, I reach into my folder and pull out a prior week's assignment. He looks it over and says "OK, good job" or something like that. Scott is looking at me in utter disbelief. Even funnier was the fact that this week's assignment required 67 pages of paper to complete. The one I had blindly grabbed from folder had 2 pages, with barely anything in second page. It was totally obvious what I had done, but our teacher gave me a break that day. I managed to make it thru all three years without needing any 'after school help!' This was a large public school and they still paddled students if the infraction was serious enough. I know none of that is allowed these days, but those were both good deterrents for me!! Question: What kind of college student would the author go on to be? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- A student that was late with his assignments
- A good and consistent student
- not enough information
- A lazy student

Answer: not enough information

Question: "That'll be $9.87." Rebecca Ranghorn flipped up the top of the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took bite. The young secretary behind her looked on in disbelief. She was so ready for the weekend. But first she had to get to the office and put in her lousy eight hours. Why couldn't this woman just pay and get out of the way? Rebecca tossed the box at the clerk. A couple of donuts flew out and fell on the floor behind the counter. "Those are yesterday's donuts. I told you to give me the fresh ones." "But, ma'am, these are the fresh--." The look in her eyes stopped him cold. He dumped the box in the trash and picked out a fresher dozen. "Now, that'll be $9.87, please." "Keep your drawers on, Jack." She sampled the new batch. "That's more like it." She threw a ten dollar bill on the counter and walked out with her donuts and large bottle of orange juice. Her enormous black 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car was four feet longer and twice the weight of the young secretary's Toyota Corolla parked next to it. It was costing her a fortune to drive her dad's old car. But it made her feel close to him--even though he had been dead for eleven years. She rarely had an occasion to drive out of town--and it was not a big town. Sherman, Texas has about 36,000 residents. She pulled into the old strip mall parking lot. Most of the stores and other businesses were barely hanging on. The place hadn't seen decent shopping traffic since the 1980s. But it was the perfect location for Rebecca and her partner. They didn't need shoppers. All they needed was cheap office space. Theirs was narrow, but deep, with a reception area, two offices and a bathroom. Question: What did Rebecca Rebecca and her partner need? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Shopping traffic
- Cheap office space
- A parking lot
Answer: Cheap office space

Question: I was one of the best fingerprint examiners in the world. I could do things the FBI thought impossible. I could memorize fingerprints. The nearby agencies, including local offices of federal agencies that had their own labs, came to me for help. One day in a trial a new-hatched defence attorney tried to make me seem neglectful because I hadn't sent the prints from the crime scene to the FBI for verification. The FBI will not look at prints that have already been identified locally. I tried to get that across to him. Finally I said, "Sir, you don't understand. I don't ask the FBI for help. The FBI asks me for help." The courtroom went dead silent. The lawyer choked a bit and looked frantically at the judge, who knew me quite well. The judge slowly nodded. The lawyer choked a few more times, said, "No further questions," and returned to his seat. I was the only person in the five-state area in which the silver burglar was hitting who got him on fingerprint evidence. He never left fingerprint evidence . . . except when he did. Every other police agency quit looking, because his MO was unmistakable. We didn't. A detective got prints from a bamboo tree he had used to climb in a window, and I got several prints from items he had handled inside the house. After the trial he was being led back to the jail and I was walking down the hall. He stopped and said, "I want to talk to that lady." The bailiff told him he couldn't talk to the witness, but I said I wanted to hear what he had to say. He said, "Lady, you're the smartest cop I ever saw, and I hope to God I never see you again." I think that was the best compliment I ever got. I have other accomplishments. But I consider my police work the most important. Question: The silver burglar talked to the finger print examiner: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- after the trial
- during the trial
- before the trial
Answer:
after the trial