Greg stopped by the courthouse concession stand for a cup of coffee, even though he had already downed four cups at Jane's Diner across the street. The old man behind the counter reached for Greg's dollar with a noticeably shaky hand that looked as though it had held more cigarettes and booze than money in its lifetime. He took his coffee and walked up the stairs to the second floor. There were about fifty people standing in the hallway outside the courtroom making small talk. He recognized a few of them, but was in no mood to start a conversation. Only four more jurors and two alternates were needed. With a little luck, he would soon be sent on his way. The coffee tasted bitter, but he continued to sip on it anyway, just to occupy himself. After a few minutes, a woman walked out of the courtroom and spoke to the crowd in monotone. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are ready to get started. We did not get enough jurors yesterday for the criminal trial, so we are going to use part of today's panel for that purpose. Those who are not selected for the criminal trial today must appear tomorrow at 8:00 AM for the civil trial jury selection. "First, I will call the names of the jurors that have already been selected. When I call your name, please go into the courtroom and take your seat in the pews where you sat yesterday. Please sit in the order in which your names are called." "Alexander Littleton Gail Silestone " The crowd carefully analyzed each person as he walked through the group and into the courtroom. "Mary McJohnson William Biscayne Judy McPhearson John Nihmbor Nancy Novelle and Troy Blockerman." Greg nearly choked on his coffee. Troy Blockerman! That's Cynthia's husband. His blood pressure shot up like a bottle rocket, exploding into a headache. "And now I will call the names of a portion of today's panel. Those whose names are not called will need to stay here in the courthouse since we might still need you today. I will let you know when you can go home. Again, please sit in the order in... What is Greg's relationship with Cynthia and Troy Blockerman? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - They all got coffee together at Jane's Diner. - They all serve as jurors on the same trial. - They all entered the courthouse together. - not enough information
not enough information

(Question)
Oh, yes, I accidentally insulted a bully. It was awesome. This was about a month ago. It was the last day I worked. Memorial Day at the city rec center is SLOW, especially when it's beautiful outside, but for some reason, we had two front desk attendants: me, and "bully #1". Bully #1 clearly had a major distaste for me. She hated my tattoos, the way I would get into a heated debate one day with a police officer patron, then have a fantastic conversation with him days later about legalizing marijuana. She hated that I was liked, but still could give fuck-all about what others thought of me. Bully #2 was our financial director, who got stuck as the manager on duty that day. I honestly never had a clue she didn't like me. She was intense and sarcastic with everyone. I liked her style. On this day, I really got the feeling they were trash talking me pretty hard, the way they kept disappearing, talking over me, laughing like mean girls. I blew it off, because I was down an internet rabbit hole, trying to wrap my brain around some concepts. I was looking at a word, and while I like to think I know exact definitions, sometimes I ask people their take on it. Many psychological terms have some subjective meaning. I spun around in my chair, locked eyes with #2, and asked her: "What do you know about Machiavellianism?" I swear to God, all I wanted was her take on it (she's a smart cookie), and all hell broke loose. I now realize that she thought I was passive-aggressively accusing her of said word. They got really nasty (behind my back, of course). They retreated to the back for awhile, and left me by myself. Cue loud, mean girl laughter. When #1 resumed her post next to me at the front desk, I calmly told her, "I'm cashing out, and leaving. I'm uncomfortable." And I did. It was noon. We were closing at 1. I figured those bitches could handle it on their own. The author's coworkers private conversation in the back room probably lasted: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - several minutes - days - multiple hours - not enough information
(Answer)
several minutes

Question: Earlier this year my depression got very bad, very quickly. I'd been having intrusive suicidal thoughts for a while. It was a combination of a bad medication regimen and lots of little stressorsschool, work, a car accident, you name it. I took to a very private social media account that only those I was closest to could see. I used that account to rant about my problems. It was my coping mechanism and how I kept myself sane. Somehow just typing it out got it off my chest in ways writing in a journal couldn't (now, I try to use Quora for this purpose instead). One night in early March I went to a performance that my friends were part of. I went alone. While I was there, I got a series of texts regarding my girlfriend. I knew that what those texts said would cause me an immense amount of stress and sleepless nights. I went onto my social media account. I don't remember exactly what I posted. It wasn't specific, but rather something along the lines of "I'm stressed, this is the cherry on top, I honestly don't know how I'm going to handle this." Whatever it was, someone who followed that account knew I was at my breaking point. They called an anonymous tip line and reported that they believed I was in danger of killing myself. I got home from the performance at midnight and my dad was in my driveway. I asked him why. He told me he'd been contacted and that someone reported a concern about me. I was admitted to the hospital the next day, and I spent a week an an inpatient psychiatric unit where I received better medication, therapy and coaching on positive coping mechanisms. Whoever called saved me, but in a way I saved my own life that day. What I thought was just another routine post about stress got me the help I so desperately needed. I know without it, I would have ended my own life that day. Funny how that works. Who called the tipline? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - His did himself. - not enough information - One of his social media followers. - His dad.
Answer:
One of his social media followers.