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. The car chase probably lasted Pick the correct answer from the following options: - 50minutes - not enough information - 20 minutes - 1 hour
20 minutes

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. Who decided to order open critiques? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - the president of the college - The art student - The art professor
The art professor

The Marshall police were looking for the killer, but they had no evidence or witnesses. The case would go cold in a hurry. Carnie was ready to check out of her room--not because of any fear of getting caught--just from boredom. She hadn't sold the old lady's jewelry, but had plenty of cash anyway. Carnie flipped open her cell phone and dialed. "Hello?" "Hey, Sis, how are you doing?" "Fine. What's going on?" "How about if I come stay with you guys for a few days before the wedding?" "You mean now?" "Yeah. If you don't mind." "Uh...sure, that'll be fine." "Great. It'll be like old times." "No, no. I can't party all night and get drunk." Carsie laughed. "Okay. Maybe not exactly like old times. But we'll have fun. See you in thirty minutes." "Thirty minutes? Where are you?" But Carnie had already hung up. It was hard to believe that her sister, Carsie, had wormed her way into the heart of the wealthy doctor. Sis had a lot more patience than she did. She would have just slit his throat and skipped town with his fortune. Surely Carsie hadn't actually fallen in love with the nerd. Maybe her biological clock had started ticking too loud to ignore. Carsie was about to turn 31, and Carnie was only a year behind her. But unlike her sister, Carnie didn't need a man to support her and give her babies. Anything she needed she would get for herself, thank you very much. But it would be hysterical to watch Carsie go through the whole 'until death do we part' shtick. Would she actually have the balls to wear a white dress? If the color of the dress indicates the purity of the bride, maybe she should go with midnight black. How long will Carsie's honeymoon likely to last? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - A week - Several months - A few hours - not enough information
A week