In his lifetime, Ray had done a number of things for which he was not proud, things he'd like to see just as well stuffed down a dark hole. Everybody had things of which they were ashamed. Everybody has committed their share of sins that they wish they could take back. But this wasn't one of them, and he resented the implication that it was -- the implication that someone would dare to judge him for something they did not fully understand. It was a good thing, a right thing, like the time he had given emergency CPR to the woman already ten minutes dead and gone, the woman whose mouth tasted of chocolate death and scrambled eggs, just to spare her horrified children the sense of helplessness while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. That had been a noble thing like this one was. Should have been. Perhaps it was always less difficult to have things fail here, with the living, than it was with the dead. The dead had no opinions, no agendas. They weren't sensitive. The dead did what you fucking told them to do and didn't complain. Right? The living simply did not understand that there were rules. They didn't want to understand something so banal. Someone who didn't take the time to understand the rules had no right to pass judgment on him. Not that it ever stopped them. "I hear that you are unhappy," he said into the phone, then had to pull the receiver away from his ear so the woman on the other end could scream at him some more. Conflict de-escalation technique number one was invariably affirmation. Make it clear that you are aware of the individual's feelings and frustrations, that you are at least listening to their side, whether or not you personally may eventually have the authority to validate or alleviate those feelings. People liked to be listened to. The illusion of having a voice was almost as good as actually having one. Isn't that why people still bothered to go to the polls on election day and vote? And it worked on most people. This woman was not one of them. Why was Ray on the phone? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - To tell someone the rules - To de-escalate the situation - To call for an ambulance - not enough information
To de-escalate the situation

"Hey, Natalie! Nice sweatshirt!" I was passing through the hallways of school last year, being messenger boy for the teachers, when this girl walked up to me. I had no clue who she was, but I thought she was a year younger than me. That's why I thought it was weird that she said my name. But the "nice sweatshirt" bit was what really got me. I wasn't even wearing my sweatshirt. So. There was a substitute teacher in my literacy class, so my class was split. half of us did actual work, and the other half watched a documentary. Ben, Evan, Isabelle and myself were put together in the class watching the super boring documentary. We got bored, so, when Ben left the classroom for a bit and left his jacket behind, I don't remember why, but, I put on his sweatshirt and traded it for mine. This turned into everyone swapping sweatshirts for the next hour until school was out. At one point I was called to the office to deliver a message to a different classroom. I walked out of the office with the information, and turned around at the sound of my name. "Hey, Natalie! Nice sweatshirt!" I smiled and thanked her like the nice human being I want people to think I am. Once she started down the stairs I looked down at my sweatshirt. Black and orange? Nike? But my sweatshirt's gray and purple! Then I remembered our little game of "try not to get caught swapping sweatshirts and giggling". I wasn't wearing my sweatshirt. Someone else had it. I was wearing Evan's. It's also kind of sad because that was one of the only compliments I've gotten from a stranger all year. Complimented on something that wasn't even mine Welcome to my life, everybody! How long have they been swapping sweathers? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - They've only done it this once - It's been a thing for years. - They've been doing it all year
They've been doing it all year

Q: For a month, anything I consumed would result in me rushing to the wash room and throwing up. When this started, I thought it's something to do with what I had previously eaten which was stale and was having a reaction to bad food. When the problem persisted for a week where I was barely able to keep my food from coming out, I went to visit my doctor. He asked me questions and gave me some vitamins and pills before and after food to stop the vomiting. They didn't work. Even though I was not sexually active, I got my self a pregnancy test which showed negitive. I tried to eat healthy, but to no avail. 15 mins was the max my food was inside my stomach. I was becoming weak from all the throwing up and rapidly loosing weight. I went to my doctor again and he said I was stressed. Wrote me some more pills. Nothing worked. My Mom got paranoid and took me to another doctor for a second opinion. The doctor asked me to write down everything I ate with the number of times I threw up for the next 2 days and return to his clinic. Only then, were they able to diagnose that I was lactose intolerant!! Milk, milk products, cheese, butter, cream, nothing seems to agree with my stomach anymore. Surprisingly this is what I used to eat - cereals with milk, eggs with butter, pizza, pasta, lasagne, cheese with bread, tall long glasses of iced coffee, frappes and bam, my body would reject them within 15 minutes. It was terrible switching from coffee with milk to black coffee, until I started developing a taste for it. Pizza's are something I still can't eat. I need to remove the cheese from the slice and unfortunately my body is able to only take one slice of Pizza. Pasta, white sauce is a strict no no unless I want to feel bloated and throw up. So yep. My doctor was unable to diagnose me. Thankfully I did take a second opinion. Who gave the narrator vitamins? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - The Doctor - The narrator's father - not enough information - The narrator's mother
A: The Doctor