Not A Chicken About Being A Jerk

We’re a group of friends on holiday camping near Venice. Unfortunately, the boyfriend of one of our group has decided to be a freeloader, the girlfriend has taken his side because love is blind, and several arguments have already broken out in the previous days.

Today’s dinner consists of two roasted chickens, bought at a rotisserie, and salad. The cost is split between the group but, due to the aforementioned arguments, the two freeloaders did not pay for any of it and are sulking in a corner.

I washed and chopped the vegetables for the salad and I’m handing out the plates as another friend carves the chickens. The first chicken has already been distributed.

Carver: “This is for [Friend #1] and [Friend #2]…” *Hands over both wings*

Me: “Whoa, easy, [Carver]. Make smaller pieces.”

Carver: “Give this to [Friend #3].” *Hands over half a breast*

Me: “Careful, [Carver], You’re running out.”

Carver: “No, I’ve got it. Give this to [Freeloader] and [Freeloader’s Girlfriend].” *Hands over both legs*

Me: “Excuse me, are we splitting half a chicken breast among you and me?”

Carver: “No, no, I’m getting the breast; it’s tough. You take this. There’s plenty of meat on it.” 

As if this is a grand gesture on his part, he gives me a plate with, literally, the carcass — what’s left of a rotisserie chicken after you pull out everything. There is some skin left along the spine and slivers of muscle between the ribs, and that’s it.

Me: *Exploding* “Are you pulling my leg? I paid good money to suck on salty bones while the deadbeat gets the thigh? What the f*** is wrong with you?”

Carver: “Okay, okay, if you’re hungry, just say so. Have this, too!”

He reached into the bag and added a mummified-looking chicken neck to my plate. I flipped him the bird and stormed out. I would have gone home on that very evening if a few people hadn’t followed and helped me calm down. The carver has still to reckon that he did anything wrong.