I have been a teacher for many years and so many of my students have done nice things for me..they are just nice people. I retired last year and was a substitute teacher this last school year. In June a teacher I had just subbed for a half day needed emergency surgery and I was asked to go in and finish her year. Good thing it was in an area I knewEnglish and Social at the grade 9 level. The kids were pretty goodsome were a handful but most of them were very accommodating. They were also writing important provincial exams at the end of the year and were getting stressed out about it. As I was getting them ready to write their exam, I took a few moments to thank them for welcoming me into their classroom and making my jobwhile not easy.at least a rewarding experience. One boy who seemed to complain about everything.thanked me for taking ownership and preparing them for final exams. I had recognized that his argumentative nature was his way of dealing with stress and tried not to let it affect my teaching. That mostly worked. There was a time when I told him, quite loudly, that if he had spent his time getting ready to do assignments instead of arguinghe could have been finished days ago. He just nodded his head and got to work. It was a nice gesture that he was able to thank me for doing my job.that he recognized that some things were out of his control and to just get on with it. A life lesson that I am still learning, by the way. Every day lately, I have had something nice happen to me with my students. I am feeling blessed. Question: How old was the student? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The student was twelve years old.
- The student was thirteen years old.
- The student was a teenager.

Answer: not enough information

Question: Shortly after five, the hospital called. More precisely, the emergency room phoned to ask if Ray had a bed. Ray pretended to consult his admission log, just as he always did. The nightly hospital call meant one of three things: the chemical dependency floor was full (highly unlikely), the individual in question had fallen under the hospital's "one treatment episode every three months" sanction (also known as the Black List, and only moderately unlikely), or the prospective client had no insurance (in Ray's experience, very likely). The folks at the hospital knew, as did Ray, that federal law prohibited him from turning away individuals requesting detoxification services if he had an open bed. The hospital was generous enough to spring for a cab voucher for the intoxicate. In Ray's experience as well, overnight admissions were less interested in detox than in free food, a free bed and complimentary meds. For his two hour paperwork investment and aggravation, he would receive the benefit of knowing the client slept until noon then slipped out the side door and into another binge. Any bills for service generated for the brief stay would return in a week or so stamped "No Such Address" or simply "Return to Sender". On average, the clients of addictions services managed to muster a raging 25% of them who would ever pay a dime toward their bill. The night shift admission payment percentages were a quarter of that quarter in good years. Thus, the frequent calls from the hospital. They had little better luck in getting good addresses (or even with those, a client who stayed sober long enough to give a shit). No one relished treating the uninsured and uninsurable. It was fiscal suicide. The hospital was perfectly willing to let the local experts in deadbeats handle the workload. Tonight, Ray could tell them no. He liked telling them no, especially when it was the truth. Question: Shortly after five: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- someone sneked out the door
- the emergency room called
- not enough information
- a cab arrived
Answer: the emergency room called

input with options: I'll go one farther back than that. I almost never had a first date. A young lady I met in the hospital cafeteria where I worked as a pharmacy intern (she was an X-ray tech) I asked out on a date. Would you like to follow me home? she asked. I said SURE! She got in her car, hit the freeway, went over the top of the hill..and was gone. I went 75 mph desperately trying to keep her tail lights in my line of sight while swerving in and out of traffic. I thought if you don't really want to go out with me, just tell me, don't try to ditch me! I finally caught up with her but found out she always drives that way. If Janet Guthrie wasn't the first woman to drive in the Indy 500, she would have been. Over the years as she got older, collecting speeding tickets got old so she became a more responsible driver. I'm glad, because I had to help pay for those tickets over the last 30+ years we've been married. Glad I caught up to her that one night on the freeway. EDIT, AND BACKSTORY: She ate lunch with her X-ray tech coworkers. She left the table first and I approached the others and asked what was her name, the girl that just left. They told me, and about a half hour later called the radiology department from the pharmacy phone and asked for her. She said all the girls in the department were huddled around the phone and giggling while we talked. It's the handsome blonde intern in the pharmacy, they told each other. Oh, you mean THAT one?! Ooooh! Like the final scene from "An Officer And A Gentleman." Pretty funny. Question: Who went 75miles === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Janet Guthrie
- The Xray tech
- not enough information
- The pharmacy intern
output: The pharmacy intern

Question: Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky. "You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly. "No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little. "You ever fall off your ladder?" "Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah." "How long did it take you to fall?" Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started. "A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks... "That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so." Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?" Justin pointed. Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?" Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?" "Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." Question: When Zeke handed Justin his mail, he anticipated: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- to relax out of the sun
- not enough information
- to go under the porch
- a cool drink and a shade
Answer:
a cool drink and a shade