(Question)
I have waited tables, but before that, our friend group were regulars at several local “open all night” establishments. Our favorite was the Denny's about ten miles outside of downtown Savannah, and we had a regular waitress that was AWESOME. As a side note, I met her several years later and found out we were a major help putting her daughter through school. We had one kid in our group who was a perpetual problem, a wannabe at everything. He just tried too freaking hard to be the center of attention. Well, he joined us ONCE in a trip to Denny's. I mean we pulled up in six cars, all packed to the gills at 3a.m. and took up almost half of the restaurant. We get done, our favorite waitress drops the check, and this goofball says something about “dine and dash.” We all just looked at him like he had grown a penis in the middle of his forehead and was trying to screw anyone within spitting distance with it. This kid wasn't driving, it would be a ten mile walk through neighborhoods that were questionable during the daytime, and he is talking about not just stiffing our favorite waitress on a tip, but walking out without paying? Are you kidding me? “Ryan. If you do that, you will be left beaten and bloody in the parking lot and EVERY ONE of us will participate.” He hanged his head and coughed up his share of the bill, but he still didn't leave a tip. She made over five bucks a head in tips every time we walked in the door. Several of us were servers, bartenders, bouncers, and a couple strippers. Tips were how a lot of us put food on the table, and chemicals in our system. We shared when we had a good night. Needless to say, Ryan never joined us on a run to Denny's again. How long did the group stay at Denny's before they finished eating and paid the bill? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - 1 day. - All night. - A couple of hours.
(Answer)
A couple of hours.


(Question)
Sheila split open and the air was filled with gumballs. Yellow gumballs. This was awful for Stan, just awful. He had loved Sheila for a long time, fought for her heart, believed in their love until finally she had come around. They were about to kiss for the first time and then this: yellow gumballs. Stan went to a group to try to accept that Sheila was gone. It was a group for people whose unrequited love had ended in some kind of surrealist moment. There is a group for everything in California. After several months of hard work on himself with the group, Stan was ready to open a shop and sell the thousands of yellow gumballs. He did this because he believed in capitalism, he loved capitalism. He loved the dynamic surge and crash of Amazon's stock price, he loved the great concrete malls spreading across America like blood staining through a handkerchief, he loved how everything could be tracked and mirrored in numbers. When he closed the store each night he would count the gumballs sold, and he would determine his gross revenue, his operating expenses, his operating margin; he would adjust his balance sheet and learn his debt to equity ratio; and after this exercise each night, Stan felt he understood himself and was at peace, and he could go home to his apartment and drink tea and sleep, without shooting himself or thinking about Sheila. On the night before the IPO of gumballs.com, Sheila came to Stan in a dream. She was standing in a kiddie pool; Stan and his brothers and sisters were running around splashing and screaming; she had managed to insert herself into a Super-8 home movie of Stan's family, shot in the late 70's. She looked terribly sad. "Sheila, where are you?" Stan said. "Why did you leave me, why did you become gumballs?" "The Ant King has me," Sheila said. "You must rescue me." Where does Stan live? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - San Francisco - not enough information - San Diego - Los Angeles
(Answer)
not enough information


(Question)
"Congratulations, jackass, you just got us sued." My editor, Sharon, was standing in front of my desk. She was apparently not happy. I shrugged, slouching further down in my chair, trying to hide from her gigantic crazy eyes behind my computer. It was a white laptop with a sticker that said "This Machine Kills Yuppies" slapped over the corporate logo on back. She reached out with one of her freakish man-hands and slammed the screen shut. "Let me try this again. You just got us sued six times over." Sharon Sinclair was a six-foot-tall beast of a woman with a huge mane of wiry black and gray hair pulled back in a pony tail. I had every confidence that she could tear me in two and use my bloody carcass in some kinky hedonistic lesbian cult ritual or something. So I usually tried to choose my words with the appropriate care around her. "Jesus-fucking-Christ, I haven't even had my morning coffee yet, and my head's still reeling from the Louisville Slugger that pummeled it last night. So I really don't feel like dealing with whatever annoying hormonal episode you have going on here." She glared at me silently, watching me squirm a little before asking, "Are you done?" "Probably." "Good," she said with a suppressed grin as she took a seat next to me. "Because I just let you publicly accuse the mayor and the valley's most powerful corporations of conspiring to defraud the taxpayers. So what's your plan for keeping my ass off the firing line?" I tilted back in my chair and met Sharon's gaze. "Look, we knew we'd get a strong reaction. Let them sue. We have e-mails to back us up." "These legal briefings say your e-mails were forged," she responded, waving a thick stack of papers in my face. "Of course they're gonna say that. That's why I made sure to get corroboration. Abrasax confirmed that the e-mails between Dylan Maxwell and City Hall are legit. But you know all this, so I don't know why we're wasting time going over it again." After the conversation, Sharon probably feels: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - neutral - furious - reassured - not enough information
(Answer)

reassured