The sighting of a killer whale (or orca) can be rare, but they do love to hunt and play in the waters between Vancouver and Seattle, so one of the activities we absolutely wanted to do (in addition to the harbour seaplane flight) was to go whale watching. Just South of Vancouver, in the quaint Historic fishing village of Steveston we hopped aboard our boat, and spent the day on the water cruising the coast looking for whales, other marine mammals and seabirds. The regular chug-chug-chug of the boat motor for a couple of hours lulled me into a meditate state as we sped our way over the State line from Vancouver, back down to the waters of Washington State. The shimmer of the water all dappled in the sunlight, the slow, measured tones of our guide and snuggling into my warm jacket against the sharp breeze off the coast was just enough to make me forget my worries, and zone out from all of my modern day dilemmas. Honestly, it needs to be prescribed on the NHS. Forget hauling yoga mats and sitting in sweaty concrete rooms with patterns trying to hide the utilitarian backdrop, just hop on a boat out from Vancouver. Not having much success closer to the British Columbia shores, our captain decided to head south past the Canadian/American border. Incredibly, the resident killer whales of the San Juan Islands are the most studied whales in the world; they, in turn, have observed humans for at least six thousand years. Stable family groups, called pods, represent several generations and include grandmothers (the pod leaders), adolescents, infants, and huge bulls. Each family member is recognized by its distinctive markings and can live as long as a human. Much of what is known about the orca whale's highly-organized social life has been learned from the resident pods in the San Juan Islands of Washington. Question: What does the author probably feel about work? Options: - It is too stressful - It pays the bills - It is a reason to live - not enough information === The correct answer is
It is too stressful

(Question)
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. Question: What is probably true about the narrator? Options: - not enough information - He hates raves - He's made Dylan Maxwell mad somehow - Him and the doorman are old friends === The correct answer is
(Answer)
He's made Dylan Maxwell mad somehow

I'll go one farther back than that. I almost never had a first date. A young lady I met in the hospital cafeteria where I worked as a pharmacy intern (she was an X-ray tech) I asked out on a date. Would you like to follow me home? she asked. I said SURE! She got in her car, hit the freeway, went over the top of the hill..and was gone. I went 75 mph desperately trying to keep her tail lights in my line of sight while swerving in and out of traffic. I thought if you don't really want to go out with me, just tell me, don't try to ditch me! I finally caught up with her but found out she always drives that way. If Janet Guthrie wasn't the first woman to drive in the Indy 500, she would have been. Over the years as she got older, collecting speeding tickets got old so she became a more responsible driver. I'm glad, because I had to help pay for those tickets over the last 30+ years we've been married. Glad I caught up to her that one night on the freeway. EDIT, AND BACKSTORY: She ate lunch with her X-ray tech coworkers. She left the table first and I approached the others and asked what was her name, the girl that just left. They told me, and about a half hour later called the radiology department from the pharmacy phone and asked for her. She said all the girls in the department were huddled around the phone and giggling while we talked. It's the handsome blonde intern in the pharmacy, they told each other. Oh, you mean THAT one?! Ooooh! Like the final scene from "An Officer And A Gentleman." Pretty funny. Question: Why does the pharmacy intern think the xray tech is trying to ditch him Options: - She was driving to fast - not enough information - He lost her - She disappeared === The correct answer is
She was driving to fast