Dennis note: Here is the first of a two-part humor story to help you through the week. This “Rich and I” story was first published in the Columbia Basin Herald in the early 1990s. This group of stories is being readied to publish in an upcoming book. OK, I admit, it should be published by now, but really, I’m working on making this happen. Enjoy.

Thanksgiving break was always a fun hunting time for Rich and me. The school holiday break would start Wednesday about noon. We would hunt pheasants, ducks and geese starting Wednesday afternoon and during the following four days.

Rich and I would have our hunting gear in the car ready to hunt as soon as the last school bell sounded.

Needless to say, we were even more attentive clock watchers on the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving break than during normal school days.

As fate would have it, the last class before any major holiday break seemed to defy the laws of time; one minute of before-holiday-class time was actually two minutes long.

During our junior year, we witnessed an even more unusual occurrence; one minute of before-holiday-class time lasted three minutes.

The reason for one hour of actual class time lasting three hours was twofold; the subject and the teacher. The subject, Contemporary World Problems, was dull and boring. The teacher, a student teacher named Miss Thomas, was young, naïve and prim and proper to excess.

11:01: “Class, today we will discuss taxes,” Miss Thomas said.

She then gave us a three-minute background lecture on what taxes are and how our legislators bring them about.

11:02: “Our elected representatives have functions other than raising our taxes,” Miss Thomas continued. Another three-minute lecture followed as she explained other functions of state legislators.

11:03: Rich noticed the fact that time had slowed to one-third its normal pace and gave me a poke with his pencil. The clock registered three minutes after 11 when the real time should have been 11:09.

“Miss Thomas is a very talented teacher,” Rich said. “She can slow time better than any teacher I’ve ever had.”

Miss Thomas then amazed us by showing emotion, an event we had never witnessed before.

“Our state senators didn’t tell the truth. They said there wouldn’t be a new gasoline tax this year, but I’m paying more for a gallon of gas now than last year,” she said with fire in her eyes as she pounded the desk.

Miss Thomas continued with even more emotion showing.

“These senators,” she said pointing to the pictures of our state senators, “these so-called public servants of ours … .”

She took a deep breath, regained her composure and continued her “emotion-free” lecture until class ended.

Rich and I limited on pheasants that afternoon. We were walking back to the car when an expensive four-wheel-drive truck with tinted windows pulled up.

“Can we give you a ride back to your car boys?” the driver asked, and then started babbling at such a pace neither one of us could answer.

The babbling continued when we reached our car, “Sure would like to get some birds like those. Would you boys mind if my two friends and I tag along when you go out again?”

The driver took his hat off and I immediately recognized him, “You are … .”

“I’m Senator T.P. Bigbottom at your service young man. Just call me T.P.,” the senator said, extending his right hand.

“Are you a public servant like our teacher, Miss Thomas, told us about?” Rich asked.

“Yes, I am. I’m willing to serve you in any way I can,” T.P. replied.

I wasn’t about to let this situation get away, “Miss Thomas also said you lied about adding a gasoline tax.”

T.P. seemed disturbed.

“I didn’t lie boys. There was not a new gasoline tax added this year. The legislature imposed a surcharge on gasoline.”

“What’s a surcharge?” Rich and I asked in unison.

T.P. told us that a surcharge was not a tax, but rather a charge for using a particular item or service.

Rich and I weren’t convinced, but we made arrangements to meet T.P. and his buddies Thanksgiving morning for a pheasant hunt. We had hunted Thanksgiving morning each year as part of a tradition we made up in order to go hunting on a day it is traditional for a family to be together all day. It was the easiest “Mom convincing” I ever conducted.

“But Mom, the pilgrims went hunting on Thanksgiving Day,” I said. “Why can’t Rich and I?”

Thanksgiving morning was cool and crisp with a new two-inch blanket of snow on the ground.

Next week: Rich and I take the senator and his buddies hunting.