input with options: My Pa disappeared somewhere in the wilds of 1975, when I was just fourteen years old. He was the Ambassador to 1975, but back home in 1898, in New Jerusalem, Utah, they all thought he was Ambassador to France. When he disappeared, Mama and I came back through the triple-bolted door that led from our apt in 1975 to our horsebarn in 1898. We returned to the dusty streets of New Jerusalem, and I had to keep on reminding myself that I was supposed to have been in France, and 'polly-voo' for my chums, and tell whoppers about the Eiffel Tower and the fancy bread and the snails and frogs we'd eaten. I was born in New Jerusalem, and raised there till I was ten. Then, one summer's day, my Pa sat me on his knee and told me we'd be going away for a while, that he had a new job. 'But what about the store?' I said, scandalised. My Pa's wonderful store, the only General Store in town not run by the Saints, was my second home. I'd spent my whole life crawling and then walking on the dusty wooden floors, checking stock and unpacking crates with waybills from exotic places like Salt Lake City and even San Francisco. Pa looked uncomfortable. 'Mr Johnstone is buying it.' My mouth dropped. James H Johnstone was as dandified a city-slicker as you'd ever hope to meet. He'd blown into town on the weekly Zephyr Speedball, and skinny Tommy Benson had hauled his three huge steamer trunks to the cowboy hotel. He'd tipped Tommy two dollars, in Wells-Fargo notes, and later, in the empty lot behind the smithy, all the kids in New Jerusalem had gathered 'round Tommy to goggle at the small fortune in queer, never-seen bills. 'Pa, no!' I said, without thinking. I knew that if my chums ordered their fathers around like that, they'd get a whipping, but my Pa almost never whipped me. Question: How long was Pa gone for? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- a few days
- a few years
- a few months
output: a few years

Q: It was a hot summer afternoon; I think I was 12. It was too hot too cook in the kitchen, so Mom decided we'd grill hot dogs & stuff outside. But we needed some things so Dad was elected to go to the grocery store. This turned out to be a big production; Dad was trying remember what all was needed without writing a list, and Mom kept adding things even as he was trying to leave. Finally, he got in the car and drove off. Mom & I had just turned around and sat down at our picnic table when all of sudden here was Dad pulling back into the driveway. He'd apparently just driven around the block & came right back. Mom & I looked at each other and smirked- she was thinking the same thing I was: "what'd he forget this time?" But then Dad got out of the car.. and on his face was the look. In my young life, I'd never seen that look before, but it chilled me to the core and I just knew something bad was coming. Mom knew it too; the smirk quickly left her face as Dad came over and said.. "Mom.. I hope I heard this wrong.. but on the radio they said a woman drowned at the lake.. I hope I'm wrong, I barely caught the name, but I think they said it was your sister.." The cookout was forgotten; we went inside & started making phone calls, and unfortunately it was indeed my aunt. She & her family had gone swimming to cool off; apparently she'd gotten a cramp or something and gone under while nobody was looking, and by the time she was missed it was too late. To this day, my Mom is miffed at some family members that we had to find out that way (she was pretty close to this sister so she feels someone should've called before it got on the news) but as for me, I will never forget that look on my Dad's face. Question: What kind of table were the child and mother sitting at? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Dining room table
- Picnic table
- Kitchen table
- not enough information

A: Picnic table

"That'll be $9.87." Rebecca Ranghorn flipped up the top of the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took bite. The young secretary behind her looked on in disbelief. She was so ready for the weekend. But first she had to get to the office and put in her lousy eight hours. Why couldn't this woman just pay and get out of the way? Rebecca tossed the box at the clerk. A couple of donuts flew out and fell on the floor behind the counter. "Those are yesterday's donuts. I told you to give me the fresh ones." "But, ma'am, these are the fresh--." The look in her eyes stopped him cold. He dumped the box in the trash and picked out a fresher dozen. "Now, that'll be $9.87, please." "Keep your drawers on, Jack." She sampled the new batch. "That's more like it." She threw a ten dollar bill on the counter and walked out with her donuts and large bottle of orange juice. Her enormous black 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car was four feet longer and twice the weight of the young secretary's Toyota Corolla parked next to it. It was costing her a fortune to drive her dad's old car. But it made her feel close to him--even though he had been dead for eleven years. She rarely had an occasion to drive out of town--and it was not a big town. Sherman, Texas has about 36,000 residents. She pulled into the old strip mall parking lot. Most of the stores and other businesses were barely hanging on. The place hadn't seen decent shopping traffic since the 1980s. But it was the perfect location for Rebecca and her partner. They didn't need shoppers. All they needed was cheap office space. Theirs was narrow, but deep, with a reception area, two offices and a bathroom. Question: How long did it probably take Rebecca to buy her donuts? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- 5 minutes
- 20 minutes
- not enough information
- 1 hour

Answer:
5 minutes