(Q).
“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! Question: How long have they been swapping sweathers? 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 === The correct answer is
(A).
They've been doing it all year


(Q).
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots. He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking. He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration. "Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul. "Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting." "Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents. Question: Is Paul an artist for a living? Options: - No, only a hobby.   - not enough information   - He freelances sometimes.   - Yes. === The correct answer is
(A).
not enough information


(Q).
Thanks for the A2A Josh: Tough one to reduce to just a single incident but I’ll try. I grew up in North Central Indiana, about 50 miles south of South Bend. It was common to have frequent snow accumulation in the winter and blustery, freezing temps. It seems like this was particularly true during my childhood in the 70’s and 80’s. My family was blue collar through and through. We lived in the heartland in a town of just a few hundred with a sawmill and an on again off again gas station as our only two businesses. My dad worked in a factory for roughly 45 years. He apparently started that job right out of high school. My mom was an incredibly hard worker and Still is to this day. She did factory work, restaurant management and everything in between. It was this Protestant work ethic that led to one of the frequent tasks that my brother and I had to do which was not fun but ultimately was a very good deed. As I said, winters were often snowy and harsh. So my mom would make my brother and me shovel driveways and sidewalks for a couple of elderly residents. We did this of course, after we did our own driveway. Some people had motorized snowblowers but we did not. Standard snow shovels were our tools. I remember us whining about the chore, wishing we could just play in the snow or get out of it altogether. I don’t remember being overly conscious of the relief this provided for our elderly neighbors. I just remember that Mom would be disappointed if we didn’t do a good job. Later in life I would have great appreciation for the things required of me by my parents. Factory work and summer farm jobs helped us learn the value of hard work and would set us on a road to appreciation of future job opportunities that were less taxing. I still remember hating shoveling snow. But I’m forever grateful that I did it. Question: How did he feel when he grew up about the work his dad made him do as a youth? Options: - disgusted   - bad   - not enough information   - Good === The correct answer is
(A).
