Christopher Paul Curtis Read Free Page A

fancy name for a pit bull. And remember, big or small…”
    The camera jumped closer to Dontay Orlando Gaddy.
    He said, “… I will…”
    A drum banged as the camera jerked in closer.
    “… sue …”
    The drum banged again. Whoever was filming this must've just learned how to use the zoom lens—they were wearing it out.
    “… 'em …”
    Another boom and Dontay's face took up the whole screen:
    “… all!”
    The camera pulled back as Dontay Orlando Gaddy slapped the strap he was holding against his desk. It sounded like a roll of thunder.
    The next shot was of the camera shop dude in the big old 'fro, the boss in the shirt and tie and some brother in a white jacket and a cook's hat standing together wearing handcuffs. All their pockets had been turned inside out like they'd been jacked and they were scowling with their lips stuck out. Then the commercial showed the old lady with bad balance, the worker with weak wrists and the roach-eating woman standing together counting big rolls of cash while the American flag waved in the wind and a band played “God Bless America.”
    An announcer said, “Attorney Dontay Orlando Gaddy is on our side, and remember, big or small, he will sue 'em all! Call 1-800-SUE-EM-ALL for a no-charge consultation! Get everything you deserve!”
    The announcer repeated the number four more times.
    Sparky was screaming into the phone, “What'd I tell you? Is he bad or what?”
    I said, “Yeah, your boy is something else.”
    “I told you! I'ma get him on my side, I'ma find me someone to sue!”
    “Good luck.”
    “All right then, I'll catch you later.”
    “Cool. Peace.”
    I hung up.
    I could tell that Mr. Baker was starting to fiend for a cigarette. His eyes were glued to the television and his hands were bouncing to the same beat as the drum in Dontay Orlando Gaddy's commercial.
    He said, “Sue 'em all! Sue 'em all! Sue 'em all!”
    Just like that the room was filled with four men all waving their arms and chanting the Dontay Gaddy theme, “Sue 'em all! Sue 'em all! Sue 'em all!” Even Mr. Foster was joining in, trying to get everyone worked up.
    I picked up the phone to call Sparky so he could listen to what he'd started but I heard a car pull up into the driveway.
    I looked out the window and saw the Sarge and Darnell Dixon getting out of his white-on-white-in-white with white leather, fully loaded, three-month-old Buick Riviera with the personalized license plates that said HI BABY.
    Uh-oh! This was all I needed, for the Sarge to walk in here and find the Crew chanting about taking someone to court. As much trouble as she used to have with lawsuits, she'd kill me for putting ideas in her clients' heads.
    I hung up, grabbed the remote and punched the cartoon channel back on.
Scooby-Doo!'s
theme music was playing and I jumped in front of the television and yelled, “Scoo-Bee-Doo! Scoo-Bee-Doo! Scoo-Bee-Doo!”
    By the time the Sarge and Darnell Dixon came into the dayroom to see what the ruckus was about I was back in my chair and the Crew was locked in chanting, “Scoo-Bee-Doo! Scoo-Bee-Doo! Scoo-Bee-Doo!”
    The Sarge saw the four of them, then looked at me and said, “After you unload the supplies come into my office, looks like it's time we reviewed everyone's medication again.”
    I kept a straight face and said, “OK,” but inside I was dying laughing.
    This is another one of those types of things that I look at philosophically, especially everything dealing with the Sarge. It reminds me of what a great philosopher, whose name escapes me at the moment, once said: “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” but the philosopher forgot to put in, “as long as the Sarge doesn't find out.”
    That's one of the reasons that when I go off to university I'ma dedicate my life to studying philosophy—it can answer just about any question that you might have. Plus, if you don't have a stable, lucid, nonmoneygrubbing adult in your life who can give you decent advice, philosophy