Question: Back in middle school, at least I think it was, I had art class. I didn't particularly love it but it was interesting enough at the least to hold my attention. We got to class and the teacher pulled up a list of instructions on the projector. She had each of us follow the instructions and she gave us 20 minutes to complete all of them. It may even have been a bit of a race too, to see who finished it first. This becomes a lot more evident in a second. I can't recall the exact details of the instructions, except that clearly it had to do with art such as having to draw a bunch of things. Anyways, we all went one by one down the instructions getting increasing nervous as to try to be the first one to finish. The class goes quiet while we work. Then I get to the last instruction which reads something along the lines of: "Step 15: Skip steps 114 and put your pencil down." You gotta be freaking kidding me. We're all so confused and mad at ourselves for not reading the whole of the instructions first. She turned this into a lesson for how we need to learn to read all the instructions first and then start, which was pretty clever. She got us! I remember this vividly to this day. But I look back now on this "prank" and I realize that she was kind ofwrong. Sure if the instructions are short like 15 steps it might be good to glance through before you start. But what about a whole load of instructions? Who the hell is going to read through the instructions for how to build their Death Star LEGO set before even starting to build it. Just a waste of time really. Note: I have never built a Death Star LEGO set. Question: The art class probably lasted about: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Around an hour
- not enough information
- About five minutes
- About six hours
Answer: Around an hour

input with options: He had apparently spaced out for a second or two. When he came to, a large, annoyed woman was leaning in toward him. "Mister? Mister, are you even listening to me?" He looked at the receding rows of fluorescent lights on the struts of the cavernous ceiling, the gleaming linoleum floors, the pallets of sale-priced plastic coolers and Special K and motor oil, and then he looked at the rack of merchandise at his back and understood that he was in a Wal-Mart, behind the returns counter. He heard his own voice saying, as if by reflex, "Do you have your receipt?" * At the first opportunity, he locked himself in a bathroom stall and dug out his wallet. His driver's license showed the right name, birthdate, and photo, but it had been issued by the State of North Carolina, and it listed an address he'd never heard of. He scrubbed his face at the sink. It was him in the mirror, a tanned and healthy 56, hair mostly gray but still all there. He felt groggy, as if he'd woken prematurely. It was only the numbness, he thought, that kept the panic at bay. If he didn't push, he found he knew the answers to some questions. He was due to clock out in an hour. When he left the parking lot he would go under the highway, turn left, and merge. * He found his way to a battered white Toyota pickup in the employee section. The key in his pocket started the engine. He forced himself not to think too hard as he drove, taking the turns that seemed to have a certain inevitability. He wound up on a dirt road near someplace called Pittsboro, in front of a small brick house surrounded by high yellow grass, pines, and live oaks. Question: He drove off in a toyota after === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- he left the bathroom
- not enough information
- he left work
- he woke up
output: he left work

Q: When I was 7, I played this computer game where you were "babysitting" and you had to make sure everything was safe for the kids. One of the tasks was that you were supposed to make sure the windows were closed. Well, one game I forgot to close the windows, and these super creepy, red eyes popped in the window like they were looking in at the kids. That literally has made me paranoid about people looking through my windows ever since. When I was 10, I watched an episode of CSI where some guy had a foot fetish and painted his victims toenails before murdering them. Now, something about red toenails just creep me out. I've never been able to shake that episode. When I was 11, a girl in my class told me that she had played the game "Bloody Mary" in her bathroom and explained to me what it was. Ever since then, I literally cannot be in a dark bathroom, and if something happens like the power goes out or something, I instantly close my eyes and get the hell outta there as fast as I can. When I was 15, my boyfriend wanted to take me to "see his grandpa's farm". I legit thought he was taking me to meet his grandpa. Well, turns out, he was just wanted to get me in the middle of nowhere so he could take advantage of me. After he had raped me, I felt like I was smaller than an ant. I felt absolutely trashed. I had always planned on being a virgin until I got married. But he took that from me. On the way back home, we drove over this bridge. I remember driving over this bridge thinking that I was totally worthless. Now, almost 10 years later, every time I drive over that bridge, I get horrible flashbacks and avoid it at all cost. Question: Who did she tell about her rape? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Her parents.
- The police.
- Her friends.
- not enough information

A: not enough information

Q: Happened to me while visiting Chicago a few weeks ago. A young couple with a baby in a pram boarded a crowded bus. The bus driver would not pull out of the stop until the pram was secured in the wheelchair chocks, however an elderly women wouldn't give up her seat (seat needed to be folded up in order to make room for the pram in the wheelchair holding apparatus). We sat there for about 45 minutes while the driver, the mother and the elderly lady argued. At the end, my wife and I offered our seats (more like a commanding, cajoling, what-she-wanted-to hear, kind of discourse), and the lady moved into our seats. The young couple locked down their pram, and the bus took off. Meg and I stood for the rest of the trip. She was really annoyed over having to move, and there was some baggage attached to her situationI hate to have to mention the racial aspects here but it's an important aspect of the story. Most of the passengers were younger white folks (bus was heading through a neighborhood where re-gentrification had taken place). The elderly woman was at least 75 years and the only black person in the front of the crowded bus. She was sitting in a designated seat reserved for elderly or handicapped, and obviously she had earned her status to claim that seat. Unfortunately, it was also the one seat that needed to be vacated if the wheelchair equipment got used. As the bus rode on, her anger simmered. She asked me what I (middle-aged white guy) would do in a spot like that. All I could answer was to offer it up to God. Hot day, no air conditioning on the bus, people just want to get to their destinations. Question: The bus ride probably lasted: === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Several days
- Several hours
- Up to an hour

A:
Up to an hour