Cartman shot Craig a death glare. “So!? Just because I was hungry doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a refund. This god damn foreigner doesn’t even speak fucking English! He can’t even understand my complaint. I deserve a refund as well as new chicken.”
“What?” the Hispanic man asked, clearly confused with what the complaint was about. “I go get chicken sandwich.”
“NO!” Cartman yelled. “Listen to what I’m saying ass wipe!” the sandy haired one then turned his attention to the pissed off redneck. “Hey, I got here first so I eat first!”
While most people flinched, Craig remained stoic as he listened to Cartman’s angry tangent. “If it was good enough to eat, then you shouldn’t even be complaining,” he deduced, not caring about whether the other teen’s order was correct or not.
“Yes, chicken sandwich,” the Hispanic man insisted, nodding to Cartman. “One chicken sandwich,” he announced, and the staff began to get busy on that order. “Three ninety-five.” He extended his hand, expecting for Cartman to pay for the food he never wanted in the first place.
“If you don’t take that damn chicken sandwich, you can just geeet out!” the redneck told Cartman angrily, cracking his knuckles.
Cartman was sitting at a table alone, scarfing down a piece of chicken like he hadn’t eaten in days. He stopped suddenly and looked at the next piece of chicken he was about to tear into. “EHY!” he cried slamming his fist onto the table. He made his way to the counter.
“I said extra fucking crispy, goddamnit!” he looked accusingly at a Hispanic man who was taking someone else’s order. “Do you not speak english? No hablo ingles!? Fix it!”
The man looked very alarmed, not really sure what to do. Cartman gave Craig a look, just noticing him in line. “What the hell are you staring at?”
Everyone in the restaurant was staring at Cartman for making such a scene. Craig was hardly an exception to the rule.
“Your refund shouldn’t count. You already ate the skin off half the pieces of chicken in the bucket,” he pointed out in his typical nasally monotone.
“Oh? Chicken sandwich?” the Hispanic man questioned. He seemed oblivious to what the problem actually was due to not being very familiar with the English language.
“Hey, c’mon, kid! Other people wanna eat sometime today!” a rowdy redneck castigated, glaring at Cartman.
(OOC: For beef-caaake and cavy-slave only)
Craig was exceptionally hungry one afternoon. Naturally, his family hardly ever sat down and ate dinner together, so this typically left the teenager to his own devices. Having no ambition to cook for himself, Craig decided to amble into town to grab a bite to eat.
South Park may have been a small town, but they had a surprising amount of fast food restaurants compared to local ones. The dark-haired one settled of Kentucky Fried Chicken, pushing open the double doors in a less than ecstatic manner.
Unfortunately, Eric Cartman was scarfing down a bucket of chicken by himself at a table near the door. Craig attempted to avoid eye contact, and he kept moving towards the counter, middle finger already raised in his hoodie’s pocket.