I do not fully understand exactly what you are asking so I will restate what I believe you are asking and then I will answer it. What was the best excuse that a student ever gave for having failed to do something? I would have to say that I was most entertained by a student’s response to “Why are you late for school?” The student said, “I awoke in time this morning but there was a mouse sitting on the edge of my bed. I looked at him and he looked back. The mouse said to me, ‘Go back to sleep’ and what could I do? He had a gun.” The following has worked a few times too when students refuse to talk. That is, I know that one of the assembled students was the culprit for some activity. When they will not talk, I interview them one at a time while the others are kept away from each other. Then when they are assembled before me again, I say, “Thank you gentlemen. I know who did it so you others are free to return to class.” All but one arises and leaves. This works more times than not. For years I have given assignments via email and I have collected assignments via email. Nothing has ever gotten lost this way and things are timestamped. I do not have to make photocopies and even students who are not present the day that the assignment is announced in class, get the assignment in a timely manner. One young lady told me, “I turned it in but you must have lost it.” “Okay,” I said, “Open your sent folder and show me that you sent it.” She replied by saying, “I delete my sent folder to keep from clogging up my email.” I told her that I understood and that she could show me an empty sent folder to prove that she was telling the truth. She said, “I lied.” Question: Why students refuse to talk? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- She interviews them one at a time
- They do not know what to say
- They know they will be in trouble
- not enough information
They know they will be in trouble


The parking lot for the Center for Addictions Treatment was in the back of the building, as was the front door. The entrance opened on the only addition to the original farmhouse, a smallish room where the receptionist sat at one of two desks. The area was called the secretarial pod. The entrance to Ray's office, both medication and technician area, was right behind the secretary's desk. To the left was another door, kept closed, which led down the hallway to the client sleeping rooms, the dining room and the kitchen. There was a phone right inside the front door (or the back door, depending upon who you asked). When Ray wanted to smoke, he would lean out the front door, propping it open with his back in such a way that he could see down the hallway if he propped that door open as well and answer the phone should it ring. Smoking was prohibited inside the building, a policy which grew increasingly unpopular with both the staff and the clients as the course of the year wore on. By December, Ray would have to do weekly fire drills around three a.m. as a way of politely reminding his anti-social and policy impaired population that any building more than a century old was actually little more than well formed kindling. After enough of those, any problem he had been having with people smoking in the building usually went away. Given the right incentives, even this population could be relatively self-regulating. The telephone rang before Ray was even half-finished with his cigarette. "Admit it now, Ray." She sounded petulant. "Fine, I admit it. Do I get the booby prize?" "That depends on whether you intended a double entendre or not." "Of course I did." "Then you lose. Get your mind out of the gutter." He took a drag on his cigarette, then made himself sound insulted. "I'm not the one sitting around naked and calling strange men in the middle of the night." Question: How long had most people been asleep when Ray did his fire drills? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- 13 hours
- not enough information
- 1 week
- 4 hours

Answer: 4 hours


“What was your worst makeup disaster?” Do fingernails count? I hope so, because this is a good one: I was 21 years old. I worked for a major commercial airline. A friend of mine and I decided to go to Puerto Rico for a long weekend. It was our first trip to Puerto Rico. The hotel at which we stayed had a lovely (classy/expensive) restaurant serving continental fare. So, we decided to have our first dinner there. We dressed to the nines. Our hair and makeup were perfect. I had fake fingernails (not acrylic - those were fairly new back then. I had the type one glues on). Those fingernails were long, and painted a very bright - and obvious - red. When the waiter came to take our drink order, we both ordered glasses of wine. The waiter brought the wine, set it down on the table, and waited to take our meal orders. I smoked back then, and at the time, smoking was still allowed in restaurants. In a 21-year-old attempt to look classy and sophisticated, at that moment I took out a cigarette, put it between my lips, picked up my lighter, and lit my cigarette - or so I thought. Unfortunately, my long, red, fake thumbnail got in the way of the flame, and it caught on fire. The waiter’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. He froze in place. I was horrified. The flame was literally shooting up from my nail! And smoke; the nail was plastic! Quickly scanning the table for the closest thing with which I could extinguish the flame, I spied my glass of wine. As nonchalantly as possible, I stuck my thumb in the glass. There was a sizzle as the flaming nail hit the wine. When I withdrew my thumb from the glass, the nail was melted, black, and curled under. Ever the professional, the waiter regained his composure and proceeded to take our orders without missing a beat - but I’m sure I was the talk of the kitchen for the rest of the evening. So much for my attempt at appearing “classy” and “sophisticated”…. Question: Who was frozen in place? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The friend
- The waiter
- The 21-year-old girl

The waiter