Chapter Text
Kenny McCormick looks at his list of names and bites the mangled metal end of his pencil, its eraser long since lost to the war on math. Right here, smack-dab in the middle of his Monster-stained physics notebook, is a collection of names: the names of every kid in his class who has enlisted Kenny’s help in finding a summer job.
See, South Park is a small town. There are only so many homes, so many offices, so many restaurants—so many buildings in general, really. Anyway, this all means that the teenage-and-college-age hunt for part-time jobs can quickly become a bloodbath if people don't play nice, since everybody wants the nice jobs and nobody wants to close at City Wok or work the graveyard shift at Safeway.
And that’s where Kenny comes in. Not in the sense that he closes at City Wok or works the graveyard shift at Loomis Gasoline (though he does), but in the sense that he has connections. He’s worked almost every part-time job South Park has to offer at one point or another, and with that has come a lot of ‘come back any time’s and a lot of ‘call me if you need anything’s.
Oh, boy, he is going to cash in on all those open-ended favors big time.
Now, it’s only October of junior year. Kenny’s just managed to convince everyone of how important it is to plan ahead. So not everyone will get a job immediately, but getting as many people started as early as possible will mean that they beat out the way-more-hireable college kids before they come back in December and May.
But who to put where?
Decisions, decisions, decisions…
What he has going is like a pay-to-play game. Give Kenny McCormick money, and he’ll find you a job. The more money you give him, the better the job he’ll land you; the less money you give him, the shittier the job he’ll land you. He’s been paid amounts ranging from one hundred dollars to fifty cents (the two quarters being from Cartman, which means that he can go have fun reasoning with the usually armed crackheads in the Loomis bathroom at three in the morning).
Here’s the breakdown so far:
$0.00-0.50: Eric Cartman.
His situation was just explained. Normally, Kenny would give Cartman a better gig because he usually likes Cartman, but the dude’s been pissing Kenny off this year, so fifty cents aren't getting him anywhere near as far as they usually would.
$5.00-$10.00: People who either don't care enough or have too much pride to fork any more money over, including Stan Marsh and Craig Tucker. The goth kids would've ended up in this tier if working wasn't too conformist for them, probably.
Their asses are getting thrown in food service. Nothing like shitty work for shitty pay. The idea of Stan in a City Wok apron and pretending he’s not bothered by Mr. Kim yelling at him especially cracks Kenny up.
$11.27-$20.00: People who knew they just needed to outbid the bottom-feeders. This encompasses people like Marjorine Stotch, Pip Pirrup (who had all the spare change), Red McArthur, and Nichole Daniels.
These guys are getting regular customer service jobs, maybe some gigs at Whole Foods or the South Park Mall now that it’s opened back up. Marjorine will get the best opening in this tier, though, because she’s nice to Kenny and it’d be funny to piss Cartman off by placing Marjorine way above him.
$25.00-$40.00: People with pocket change and/or specific jobs in mind, such as Kyle Broflovski, Heidi Turner, Bebe Stevens, Jimmy Valmer, and Wendy Testaburger.
Jimmy wants to work at the South Park Gazette. Wendy and Kyle want gigs at Hell’s Pass Hospital because it looks good for college. Bebe wants the front desk job in Unplanned Parenthood. Heidi just didn't know how much other people were paying and played it safe; her effort will, obviously, be rewarded.
$50.00-$100.00: the desperate and the wealthy, respectively Clyde Donovan and Token Black.
Clyde just really doesn't want to work at his dad’s shoe store. Token just didn't think a hundred bucks was a lot of money. Kenny doesn't even know why the hell that guy wants a job when he doesn't need one, but he’ll deliver.
So that’s that, and Kenny has his payment—all he has to do now is scheme.
He starts with a chipper call to his favorite manager in the whole wide world (and, previously, his favorite lunch gentleman—is that the male equivalent of lunch lady?), curling some of his hair around his finger as he flops onto his bed and waits for the man to pick up.
‘Hello, child! What’s going on?’
“Hey, Chef! I was calling because I found someone else to work all of my night shifts at your place. He’s willing to start ASAP. Do you want his contact info?”
‘Why, yes, I sure do! What’s his name?’
“Do you remember my buddy Eric Cartman?”