Q: Another phone call at just after three. He answered on the third ring. "Is this Mr. Ray--uh. . ." The sound of shuffling papers. "Yes." The voice brightened perceptibly, strapped on a mask of friendliness. "My name is John Donovan. I'm an attorney representing the family of Donald Ackerman. I'm sorry to be calling so late." "It's not late for me." A laugh, intended to sound nervous or flustered. To Ray, it only sounded false. "That's right, of course. Only late for me. Do you mind if I tape record this conversation?" Smooth segue, meant to catch him off guard, startle him into acceptance. "Yes, I do mind. Can I help you?" You fucking bastard. John Donovan paused on his end of the line. Ray imagined him reaching for a legal pad upon which to take notes (just as he was supposed to imagine), though, of course, the tape recorder was still running. "Um, I was wondering if I could get some information?" "Sir, federal law prohibits me from acknowledging either to confirm or deny the presence of the individual of whom you have spoken or his participation in our program." Ray grinned. "Very well done," the lawyer said. "I guess that sets the parameters." "I guess it does." "Were you working two nights ago." "Sir, I am bound by Center policy and state law from discussing with you the work schedule of our employees at this facility unless you are an officer of the law or bearing a subpoena, in which case, I am only authorized to refer you to my supervisor." Ray grinned again. He was enjoying this. "What if I told you I have possession of a subpoena?" "Have you spoken to our attorney?" Ray countered. "In fact, son, yes I have. This afternoon." Ray grunted. Standard level of communication. "That's good, because I haven't. Which means, of course, that I'm not prepared to talk to you at all until advised on my statement by legal counsel." The telephone conversation probably lasted about: A. three minutes. B. 16 years. C. 12 seconds. D. not enough information
A: A

Q: Not really that huge a deal, but we laughed about it for a while. My friends and I went to see the Gin Blossoms in 1993 at a small venue in Chicago. We were having some beers and enjoying the opening band (they were okay, but not memorable) when this guy came and stood right in front of my roommate. I mean, the floor was filling up, sure, but we'd landed a decent spot right in the middle and he came and stood right in front of her when there was plenty of room off to the side a bit. My roommate and our friend and I looked at each other and were like, "How rude!" Frankly, I was surprised my roommate didn't do or say anything - holding her tongue wasn't her forte. I half expected her to spank his bottom - I'd seen her do it before to get some guy's attention, and this guy was pretty cute. But when that same song came to an end, the guy turned around and actually apologized to all of us. He held up his camera and said he wanted a really good shot of the band as they were friends of his. He actually went and bought each of us a beer, so it totally worked out well. We thanked him and he took off. The only excuse I have for us is that we were in college and not glued to MTV or entertainment magazines, and really, only Hey Jealousy had hit the airwaves when we went to the concert. But sure enough, when the Gin Blossoms took the stage, Robin Wilson gave a shout out to those three girls he'd blocked the stage for earlier and hoped we'd enjoyed our beers. Like I said, it's pretty tame, but I thought he handled it with class, so it's always made me remember their music fondly. What was the name of the band that Robin Wilson was a part of? A. Robin Wilson was a part of Gin Blossoms. B. Robin Wilson was not a part of Gin Blossoms. C. Robin Wilson was a part of band that performed before Gin Blossoms. D. not enough information
A: A

Q: I loved the little guy from the day she brought him home. She carried him wrapped in a sweatshirt from the shelter at the corner where she'd been saying for months she was going to go. She set him down on the hardwood floor and he clipped around like a fawn - - clip, clip -- looking through doorways and carefully eyeing us both. He was tiny but he was strong. He was muscular and sleek, like a miniature greyhound, and we both watched intently as he clipped around, soldiering things out and whining under his breath. Miss Tennessee looked at me and smiled and said: "Well honey? What do you think?" And I told her: "I love the little guy." He was never really my dog. He was more like my step-dog, but together we named him Steve. We thought it was funny, giving a dog a man's name like that. But it fit, like Miss Tennessee, which I started just to tease her about being full-grown and long- legged and pretty, but in a tomboyish way that made it both absolutely ridiculous and absolutely plausible that she had ever been Miss Anything. It always made her swallow a grin. Steve's name, on the other hand, made it sound like he wasn't a dog at all, but this little man. Miss Tennessee often called him that: the little man. Steve liked me okay but he loved Miss Tennessee. With me it was man things. After he got snipped or when he was stung by bees, down there, in grass that came up to his chin, he would come sit by me, hoping I'd understand. With her, it was everything else. When she took a bath, he stood with his paws on the side of the tub, and when she went someplace he couldn't go he stood where he last saw her and waited. If she went into a store and left us together in the car, he stood with his paws on the dashboard, waiting and crying and looking at me like maybe I was to blame. Who was called the little man? A. not enough information B. The narrator C. Steve D. Miss Tennessee
A: C