I frankly haven't the slightest idea what the difference is between a moka pot and a cafetiere, but I'm going to pretend I do. "Delicious," I say, setting down my cup. "Way better than that stuff you get at Starbucks." Everyone else nods their heads in agreement, but I can't help but wonder if they're just being polite. Jason is pouring cream into his cup with a practiced hand, letting the white stream fall from the pitcher's lip in a smooth and slender column that blooms across his coffee's surface like a carnivorous plant photographed in stop-motion. "Did you hear about Tibet?" he asks. "Yeah," I say, "Terrible." "What's really shocking," says my boss, "is the complete ignorance of, well, most of America about what's going on right now." "Terrible." chimes in Jason. "and what with the death of newspapers, soon practically no one will be able to easily come by a well-formed opinion." "Did you hear the New York Times might be going bankrupt?" my boss asks. "Now that," Jason says, draining his cup, "would be a tragedy." Our biscotti has arrived and I'm reluctant to take the first piece. Is Dr. Burns paying again? It makes me feel awkward, because and despite the fact that she paid the last time--and this was at her invitation. Jason, for all his savior faire, did not appear to know how a Turkish coffee tasting was really supposed to go last time, and did not question when Dr. Burns ordered for all of us. Tracy, similarly, followed the doctor's lead and silently acquiesced when she took the check from the waiter dressed in a vest and what I took be MC Hammer pants. At any rate, it's not too weird for the boss to pay, right? After last time, I had gone home and dug out a 1984 copy of Emily Post, but that wasn't much help. There was no heading for "Research Assistants" nor did I find a chapter on "Student/Professor Luncheons." Question: Where is a newspaper in financial trouble? Options: - Emily Post's state of Florida - Tibet - New York - not enough information === The correct answer is
New York

(Question)
Not as a nurse, but as a patient. I had my appendix removed in about 1970 before keyhole surgery and the surgeon had not properly stitched the inside incision. This meant I was slowly "leaking" blood into the area between my abdominal cavity lining and my skin. I was kept in the hospital for two weeks and every day the same nurse would come along and open the end of the incision in my skin to relieve the pressure caused by the pooling of my blood. That was fine for the first five days, but the weekend came and she was off duty. Apparently, nobody else knew what to do. By Monday morning, I was in agony and when she arrived, she was appalled I had not been drained during the weekend. The other thing that happened during the weekend was the end of the skin incision, which she had opened, had mostly healed meaning there was no convenient hole for the blood to be drained. The nurse used a sharp pair of scissors to reopen one end of the partly-healed incision, but still the blood would not simply drain of its own accord. She used both hands to squeeze downwards onto the swollen blood reservoir. At first, there was no reaction except agonizing pain, but after a few seconds and a very hard squeeze, the stinking, coagulated blood jetted out of the hole she'd made squirting across the ceiling, down the wall and down her full-length coating her face and the front of her uniform. Despite the pain, I couldn't keep myself from laughing loud and long. She then dressed the wound, directed some junior nurses to clean the ceiling and the wall while she went to clean herself. I apologized for laughing the following day when she returned. She told me she appreciated the humor of the situation so there was no "hard feelings." Question: It is likely true that the author experienced the event: Options: - before they became a nurse - not enough information - when they were older - while a junior nurse === The correct answer is
(Answer)
before they became a nurse

Question: Thank you for the a2a! I have a habit of making mental errors; some funny, some not. This one just happens to be funny. We had "open critiques" in art school. The idea was A- to point out how we could do it better, and B- to toughen us up for the advertising world. It's brutal, cruel, and cutthroat, and get ready for your stupid clients to ruin your tasteful design and fuck it all kinds of up to put a picture of their ugly-ass crotch dropping on there, or a huge starburst that says "SALE SALE SALE!". You had to learn not to care, and do your fulfilling artwork on the side. It's just a job; nothing personal. We were in the middle of a critique, and it was turning ugly. The only time our professor would jump in was if it turned personal. It had. He laid back and let us fight it out, until someone told the girl we were critiquing that "with your taste from growing up in a trailer park, looks like you'll be working for the Auto Trader" (a shitty, newsprint magazine that people sell used cars in- the worst of the worst design jobs). Before our professor could comment, I blurted out "For fuck's sake, Mom." I was about to say "tell them to break it the fuck up!" until the laughter started. Then I realized I'd called my professor, who had an MFA and spent 20 years in advertising at Saatchi and Saatchi, "Mom". He responded with such amazing, quick wit; "Ms. Hood, I admire your devotion to your mother; just remember she stays home while you come to class." I caught hell for it that entire semester. Luckily, we (almost) all had pretty tough skins, so it was amusing, even to our somewhat staid professor. He wrote on my end of semester assessment "Respectfully, Not Your Mom." I still keep that assessment to remind me to wear life like a loose garment. We all say stupid shit sometimes; just laugh at yourself and enjoy the silly moment. Question: Who made the personal critique to the girl? Options: - A friend of the narrator. - not enough information - A graduating student. - A friend of the girl of interest. === The correct answer is
Answer:
not enough information