*Question*
My best story is about Santa Claus. A mall Santa had a heart attack at work and was rushed to the Emergency Room in full cardiac arrest. Let me explain that a person playing Santa is generally a certain age (white beard) and body type (round) that is predisposed to cardiac disease. We did everything we could but ultimately our efforts were futile. The mall Santa rode his sleigh into the great beyond. A mother, there to visit another patient, was insistent that her 78 year old son be allowed back to visit his grandmother. We had a strict 12 year old age limit visitation policy. I was called to speak with her. "Why do you have such a stupid Draconian policy?" She insisted. "The Emergency Room is no place for a child ma'am. Besides, the germs and infections he may be exposed to, there are things he may see or hear that a child would have a hard time processing," I explained. "Like what?" She argued. "Well, there are people in pain moaning," I answered. "And drunks cursing at the staff. It's a tough place." "He's fine," she insisted. "I think I know how to parent. I don't need you to worry about what my son is able to handle." I caved in and allowed her back. As we passed the room with the dead Santa, a tech exited and opened the curtain. Her child looked in and saw Santa's lifeless body, ET tube sticking out of his throat, boots still on but costume cut to shreds and strewn across the room. The child lost it! "Mom, Santa Claus is Dead!" He cried. "I'm not going to get anything for Christmas." "Why would someone open the curtain?" The mother demanded. "I warned you," I said. "That's why we have a 12 years and above visitation policy." She was not happy. Come to find out the child had his picture made with that very Santa a few days prior. Very ironic. Where did Santa go? - to the afterlife - The hospital - not enough information - the emergency room
**Answer**
The hospital

*Question*
There's a story in my Tuscan family of nobility and forbidden love. It's set in Taranto, Puglia, on Italy's southern heel and involves my daughter's great-great-grandmother. The best known version is told by my husband Marco's uncle, Riccardo, who remembers it being told to him by his elderly Nonna Anna herself. Anna Michela Comasia Maria Calianno. Her long name was a sign of her family's noble status. She was born in Taranto, Puglia, in 1889, into a wealthy, well-educated Tarantine family of physicians, surgeons and landowners. One day, by chance, young Anna answered the door instead of the butler. There was Nicola Cardellicchio, the postman. He came from a poor family of bricklayers and wool spinners, raised by a single mother. "He was no adonis," noted Nonna Anna. Nicola was rather short and stocky, but she liked him immediately. She continued answering the door whenever the postman passed. When Anna's mother, Girolama, noticed her daughter's growing interest in the postman, she forbid her to see him again, threatening to disown her. So Anna did what any lovesick girl would do: she ran away, eloping with Nicola. The couple had nine children in Taranto Mario, Marco's grandfather was born in the middle of the First World War but times were very hard, and they moved north to Torino to look for work. Nonna Anna was perhaps not an instinctive cook. I wondered whether she ever had the possibility to learn how to cook. Her grandchildren, Angela (my mother in law) and Riccardo, remember her only ever making lesso (boiled meat) and these polpette, which became variously known in the family as "sugo di nonna Anna" and, oddly, "amatriciana" (which is actually a different recipe, a chilli-spiked sauce of fried guanciale and tomato to coat pasta). But these polpette plump meat balls, cooked slowly in tomato sauce, a very traditional dish from Puglia were passed down to Anna's daughter in law, Angela's Tuscan mother, Lina, who made them so often for her own family that she in turn taught her daughter in law,... What did Nicola do for work in Torino? - He was a surgeon - not enough information - He was a wool-spinner - He was a bricklayer
**Answer**
not enough information

*Question*
Roland felt his stomach knotting. Having ridden out of the city through the Saint-Denis Gate, he now was nearly home, and the hurt inside was cutting so deep that he thought it would drive him mad. He repeated again and again the pledge he had just made to Nicolette: I am your true troubadour, now and forever. It felt like a knife stabbing into him. I do love her, as I have not loved any other - except Diane. Under his fur-lined mantle he was sweating, despite the bone-deep chill of the January night. Was my pledge to Nicolette a lie? No, not now that Diane has vowed herself to God. He had always believed that a man or a woman could love but one person. For all the years he had loved Diane, he had accepted that as a sacred law of Love. It was the way things should be. But it was not the way they were. Not for him. What if I had known, that day I saw Nicolette at Chinon, that Diane was still alive? I would have wanted Nicolette just as much, but would not have begun this. There would have been no messages, no song in her garden. But I was sure Diane was dead. There was nothing but a memory of a younger time to check my feelings for Nicolette. And then, when I found Diane again, I could not have her. I had lost her forever. So at last I wrote again to Nicolette. But tonight, when Nicolette would have let me make love to her - and how I want her! - I could not go beyond an embrace and a kiss. Not as long as I still love Diane. When he had set out, a full moon had hung low above the huddled rooftops of the university town. Now the silver disk was high overhead, and he could discern the small house he had bought two years ago with money he brought with him from Sicily. Roland felt his stomach knotting: - not enough information - after he knew Diane was still alive - before he made a pledge to Nicolette - after he made a pledge to Nicolette
**Answer**
after he made a pledge to Nicolette