I thought I might get some good ideas if I went down to the hospital. I always have stayed away from hospitals. People died or were born. But now I thought I might get some idea if I went down to where it was all happening, the being born and the dying. Mostly the dying. It was the dying that interested me. I sat on a bench in a sort of waiting room. I wanted to call it a green room; it wasn't a place where the patients would wait to be called by the doctor; it was a place where the relatives would wait while the patient was in their room. It had a coffee bar, and comfortable couches, with trendy, muted colors on the walls and floor. Everything was clean and modern without being cold, a homogenized balancing act designed to keep everyone calm during their stressful time. It was a green room; patients were "guests"; their families were "guests" as well. Here was where the families would sit and be feted while they waited to be called out to perform, to smile and encourage or to don faces of appropriate mournfulness. The old ones would put on smiles, the young ones would look sad. I think I went there because it seemed to me that it was the place richest in emotional impact. It reeked of spent emotions, and the emotions were made all the stronger, here in the green room, by the efforts at suppression--the muted walls and gourmet coffees and scones, the overstuffed loveseats and couches, as if those in grief should not be permitted to sit on benches or folding chairs. It absolutely reeked of hush and hidden feeling. It was worse than a church. It was worse than a highschool hallway. It was more universal, more basic, something even the children could comprehend. Question: Why did the author go to the hospital? Options: A. To get ideas B. To examine the relatives of the patients C. To examine the patients D. not enough information === The correct answer is
A

THE HOSPITAL'S emergency room smelled like soap. The place was nearly empty when I carried Mia inside, just one couple and their kids sitting in a circle in the corner. The parents glanced up at us, then went back to praying quietly. The kids stared at the floor the whole time. I dropped Mia into a chair at the nurses' station and waited. Behind the glass wall in front of me, three nurses were talking about their various ex-husbands. It sounded like the same guy to me. I was still waiting for them to figure this out when one of them came over and asked, "What's the problem?" "No problem," I said. "I just want to drop her off." We both looked at Mia. A string of drool slowly slipped from her chin to her chest. "Has she been drinking?" the nurse asked. "I'm not really sure," I said. The nurse looked back at me. "You're not really sure? Now what does that mean?" "I don't know," I said. "I found her. I thought maybe I could leave her here." "Sure, we'll just have to fill out the paperwork for that," the nurse said. She smiled at the other nurses when she said it, and I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. She had me go through Mia's pockets, but all I could find was a piece of paper with an address written on it. Five Crossings. I couldn't find her ID anywhere. The nurse entered my name and address on a form, then took us down the hall to another room. What seemed like hours later, an old, red-faced doctor finally came in. He glanced at Mia and then washed his hands in the sink. "You the father or the boyfriend?" he asked. "Neither," I said. "I've only just met her." I couldn't take my eyes off the garbage can in the corner. It was full of bloody bandages. I wondered what had gone on in there before we'd arrived. Question: Who was dropped off at the hospital? Options: A. kids of the couple at the hospital B. Mia C. A couple D. not enough information === The correct answer is
B

Q: Before we got married my husband and I lived in 4 different apartments all within the span of one year. The worst one of all of them was actually a great apartment, but our upstairs neighbors drove us positively insane. A list of their common antics: Blasting movies/music with the bass turned all the way up into the small hours of the morning, in their bedroom, which was directly above our bedroom Stomping, all day, every day, no matter what, always stomping. Sometimes running full speed around their apartment. It was a 1 bedroom and they had at least 4 adults (two couples) and at least 2 kids living there. They also always had company over. It was a nonsmoking complex but they smoked on their porch and tossed their butts over their balcony, which would leave them landing in our little porch. Constantly came out to find butts and trash in our potted plants and all over the ground. We had to call the sheriff on them once because one of the couples living there got in a very loud, very obvious domestic violence situation. We heard them screaming and throwing each other around. At one point the man smashed her head through the wall. The kicker was when they brought home one of those mini motorcycles and put it out on their porch. Their porch was made of slatted wood so there were gaps between the boards. The damn bike started leaking fuel (racing fuel no less) through the slats and on our porch (and all over our stuff). Ruined a table, some laundry I had air-drying out there and killed a few of our plants. Not only that but while this was happening they were throwing their butts down onto our porch too. Could have started a fire. Then there was the spitting. They would spit over the edge of their balcony and we complained so they started spitting THROUGH the floor boards so it was definitely intentional. I have never experienced a more trashy group of people. So glad to be out of that apartment and away from them now. Question: How well off is probably the couple in this story? Options: A. not enough information B. Fairly well off C. Very well off D. Not well off at all === The correct answer is
A: D