I showed up at the address on Columbine's invitation just before eleven; it was a converted warehouse in an industrial zone on the city's north side. Since it was a Saturday night, everything else was empty for miles. The parking lot was filled with sports cars, hybrids, and shiny suburban tanks. The door facing the parking lot was open, spilling out muted lights and the din of yuppie chatter. It cast a somewhat foreboding aura over the entrance. The first thing I noticed as I approached was the beefy refrigerator in a rented tux blocking the doorway. The second thing was the surveillance camera perched on the wall above his head. I had stopped home and changed first, so I was sure I was dressed mostly appropriately for some rich faux-hipster art party - charcoal gray pinstripe jacket over a TV on the Radio t-shirt, skinny cuffed jeans, Docs, and a black fedora. I certainly didn't look any worse than the other idiots I saw filing in and out of the door. I even had an invitation. So I was fairly confident I'd be able to gain admission to this thing without incident. "No, absolutely not," the doorman said, pressing a meaty palm into my chest. "I was invited!" I said, exasperated. "I have documentation." I waved the rave card in front of his face. "No dice." I stepped aside to let a couple of aging goths through the door and wondered for a moment if the doorman somehow knew who I was. Then I noticed the ear piece he was wearing and my eyes darted back to the surveillance camera. "Motherfucker," I spat and raised both arms to flip off the camera. I didn't know it at the time, but at that moment Dylan Maxwell was sitting in front of a wall of monitors, laughing his ass off. The narator is probably: A. not enough information B. Hoping to get in to party C. likes hipster art parties D. Has newer met Dylan
B

I lost sight in one eye when in college, I had two preschool children at the time. I was walking through the house one morning and suddenly I could see NOTHING out of one eye. When I told my husband,who was right there when it happened, he assumed my eye was just blurry or something had gotten in the eye. He took me to the ophthalmologist who verified that I could not see out of the eye. Then we subsequently got the worse news that it was a neurological condition with a long name I do not remember that there was nothing he could do about. He said that I would either get my sight back or I you and all we could do was wait and see if it came back. This was right before finals that semester but he told me I absolutely could not be studying or using my good eye for reading or basically anything that would strain it or I could end up losing sight in that eye also. Needless to say, as a mom of two children ages 2 1/2 and 6 months,I could not afford to lose ALL of my sight! So, I had to wait. I could not drive like that either which made matters worse. Both my husband and I were in school fulltime (until then), fortunately it was the end of the semester, unfortunately it was BEFORE finals. My sight did come back but not for about 5 months. When it first started to come back I still couldn't drive because although I could see I did not have my peripheral vision, that did not fully come back for quite a while. I cannot imagine it a person who goes totally blind goes through, I just know for me it was not an easy to to go through. Why couldn't the author study for her finals? A. not enough information B. Because she was upset about losing her sight. C. Because reading could have caused her to lose vision in her working eye. D. Because she couldn't read properly because she lost her peripheral vision.
C

Q: "Please remember me to myself!" When sliding toward mania in 2016, I begged this of my therapist. He cocked his head. "What do you mean?" I had no ideaon a conscious levelwhat I was asking for, just that I felt in a desperate sense that the self I knew was slipping away. An inability to recognize myself either in my writing or in reflecting upon my own actions was taking over. And then? I didn't care. I wanted to kiss girls. Which is finejust not something I ordinarily do. I wanted to drink, smoke. Again, finebut not something I ordinarily do. "Do I seemokay?" I asked a colleague at work. A woman I barely knew. Insanely, I thought that since she worked with disabled students, many of whom struggled with mental illness, she would know mania when she saw it. This was a rather foolish assumptionespecially since she's an educator, not a psychiatrist, especially with how skilled I am at wearing the mask of calm, the face of sanity. "You seem great, Julie. Cheery. Professional as always." I let her reassurance placate me. Wanted to be placated. Yet, within months I lost my job. And not only that, but a chance at a scholarship, two really important long term friendshipsrelationships I'd enjoyed since high school. I was hospitalized three times between September and February. I lost my ability to trust myself, lost my mind. It is now a little over two years since I first felt that sliding. Twenty-six months since I knew that somewhere in the deepest parts of who I am, I was slipping. Nine seasons since I begged Dr. Poe, "Remember me to myself!" I'm still recuperating. Yes. I have felt like I wasn't me. Julie was employed at the job she mentioned losing for how long? A. 2 months B. not enough information C. 20 years D. 2 years
A: D

(Q).
When I was a patrolman working the 11PM to 7AM shift we received a phone call from a police department about 200 miles away in a neighboring state. It seems that department was holding one of our elderly residents who suffered from Alzheimer's disease. Earlier in the day this gentlemen got the keys to his wife's car and went for a ride. He quickly became confused and lost, so he just kept driving. The last 60 miles of his journey consisted of a low speed police chase. This poor man was scared to death and only pulled over when his vehicle ran out of gas. A request was made for us to send an officer to transport this gentleman the 200 miles back to his home. Because we were at minimum shift strength, the Sergeant determined that a family member would have to go and get him. I returned to work the following night and at nightly briefing, I asked if anyone had an update on the man's transport. The sergeant said he hadn't heard anything, which is when a junior patrolman spoke up. He said that man is from my neighborhood and after I got home from work this morning, I drove the 400 mile round trip and picked up my neighbor and returned him home to his wife. I just got back into town about an hour ago, so I changed into my uniform, and I'm here for my shift! I learned later that this patrolman had taken it upon himself to contact the man's wife and the only vehicle they owned was out of gas 200 miles away. So this officer stayed up all day after a working the midnight shift and used his own car for the 400 mile trip. The officer said when he picked the man up at the station; he looked at the officer and smiled. He recognized his neighbor. This frail elderly man surely did not remember this selfless act of kindness. But it made a lasting impression on me, and on what it means to be a good cop. Who was the sergeant at the time? A. Joe Blow B. Ace Gumshoe C. not enough information D. John Doe
(A).
C