This was 20 years ago, maybe. My girlfriend (at the time) and I were planning to go on a day trip on a Saturday, and so the Friday night before, we decided to celebrate our mini vacation by having a few drinks at a local bar. It was a known hangout for bikers, and had a reputation of being a rowdy place, but I was on good terms with a few of the regulars, and felt safe enough. As the night wore on, I started getting out of control, and didn't even realize it. I loved my girlfriend deeply, and had no desire to be with anyone else, but that night I was most definitely not myself. I was told that I openly flirted with the barmaid in front of my girlfriend, bet and lost on the pool table several times, and tried to start fights with some of the patrons, as I strongly suspected that someone had slipped something into my drink. At the time, I was a seasoned drinker, and the amount of alcohol I had consumed that night was pretty minimal in comparison, so naturally I was convinced that someone was messing with me. To this day I'm still not sure if my drinks were spiked, or it was just one of those nights. I do know that I hadn't eaten prior to that, so I would tend to choose the latter culprit, even though it pained me to admit it. I woke up the next afternoon in my own bed, with no memory of the trip home, a screaming hangover headache, and no girlfriend. She eventually forgave me, and we were together off and on for a few more years before we grew apart. I haven't set foot in that bar since, so I have no idea if I'm barred, or how the people there felt about me. I hope they've moved on, but I'm still too scared to find out. It's an experience I never want to repeat, even though I didn't actually experience anything. :/ Question: Where was he? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Somewhere without alcohol
- Somewhere boring
- Somewhere with alcohol

Answer: Somewhere with alcohol

Problem: OPTIONS:
- elderly nursing home
- not enough information
- brain injury unit
- general care
Q: In the 1970s I was a student nurse in psychiatry. I was rostered to the brain injury ward in a chronic hospital, where the patients had severe brain damage from tumours, car accidents, strokes, metabolic diseases, degenerative diseases, and alcoholism. Only about half were ambulant. Most had severely impacted recent and long term memories. They could not bathe or feed themselves. The majority sat most of the day in chairs lined along the sides of the day room. They were spoon-fed meals and wheeled into the toilet. One of those patients was Connie S. She was maybe 55 yrs old and she spent a lot of the day screaming in her chair. She could not speak, walk, or cooperate. One nurse was very impatient with her and once I heard that nurse say to her, "You think the water is too hot, do you? Then have it cold!" as she bathed her in cold water. I remember standing up for her to that nurse. I worked that ward for over a year and then, one day, just like that, Connie S. woke up. She suddenly began speaking and walking. She apparently remembered most of the things had had happened to her in the ward. Soon, she walked right out of that ward and never came back. As she left, she appeared dignified and so happy, so relieved. I was too junior at that stage to know what her diagnosis was supposed to have been, but no-one expected her ever to leave. No-one left that ward. It was the end of the line. I remember being really glad that I had stood up for her and thinking how ashamed the nasty nurse must have been. It is now many years later and I often think of this woman and wonder how she fared in her post-hospital life. Her name is not common, but every so often I meet people with the same name and ask them if they know of a relative to whom this happened, but, so far, no-one has known of her. Question: Where does the nursing student work now that she is a full time employed nurse herself? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: brain injury unit

input with options: April 1, 2006 Walter died today. Found out this morning over breakfast. Suicide. Walter. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. Suicide. Walter wasn't suicidal. I know that, know it for a fact. But he is dead. Why? I am not foolish enough to suspect "foul play" as they say in the mystery stories. No one cares enough about a community college art teacher to murder him. But suicide? Something is wrong here. Very wrong. April 2, 2006 I didn't realize until this morning that yesterday was April Fools day. Some kind of sick joke? But that's not like Walter either. He was a little crazy, but not that kind of crazy. Still I keep half expecting to pick up my voice and hear his voice yell, "Gotcha!" But it is no joke. I know he is dead. (Later) Got a package today. From Walter. Scary considering what I wrote about expecting him to call. I can't express the chill I got when I saw his name on the label. A message from the dead. Surely it's not a good Omen. It's a painting. Or at least I think it is. The package is the right shape, and knowing Walter it seems likely, but...I haven't yet worked up the courage to open it yet. I'm afraid of what I might find. April 3, 2006 Went to the funeral today. Walter's wife, Martha, was in hysterics. Can't say I blame her. It was awkward being there seeing someone in the most vulnerable possible condition. I didn't know her that well. Walter and I rarely interacted outside of work, so I have very little knowledge of his personal life. Sylvia went up to her and hugged her even though she'd never met her before in her life. It must be something with women to be able to make that kind of spontaneous connection. I just shook her hand, and told her I was sorry. I don't make a habit of crying in public, but seeing her so shaken up brought tears to the edges of my eyes, and I did nothing to wipe them away. After five years of friendship it's the least Walter deserves of me. One other thing. The package. It's still sitting there in my study. Mocking me. That's how it feels anyway. Should... Question: What is probably true about Martha? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- she hates the author
- she hates art
- she likes art
output:
she likes art