Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.

Input: Consider Input: When I was entering my Sophomore year in High School, we had just moved from a single 4-way stop-sign town, to a bigger city with actual city buses! In order to get to school, I had to ride a city bus for the 1st time, without information/assistance! I barely managed to squeeze in and had to stand on the step of the packed bus on the way to school. BTW, smoking was STILL happening on these buses! I noticed every time we went around a corner, it seemed a bell would ring. I falsely assumed it meant HANG ON! So, when it was time to return home, the bus was not as crowded, and I actually was able to sit down. Again, every time we turned the corner, a bell would ring. So I held on tight! As we neared my bus stop to get off, the bus whizzed past it, without stopping! Panic began to set in quickly. I already had a very strange, long day in a new 3 story school building, and I smelled like cigarette smoke! I quickly moved to the empty seat behind the driver, and told him he didn't stop where I needed to get off. He asked me if I rang the bell. I admitted to him, I had no knowledge of riding on a city bus. He was kind, explained to pull the bell pull 1 block prior to my stop. He explained he would circle back around and I could get off at my stop on the return trip. I was SO relieved! However, now I was 1/2 hour late getting home, especially stressed and tired from the new school and bus fiasco, AND I smelled like cigarette smoke! When I walked into my house, I was immediately confronted on why was I late, why did I smell like smoke, etc.! I burst into tears, and had to tell about my horrible day, but I didn't get into trouble! WHEW!

Output: Who did the writer talk to about missing his stop?

Input: Consider Input: 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.

Output: Who was told they couldn't talk to the witness?

Input: Consider Input: 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.
Output: Who decided to order open critiques?