In the mood for a romantic night out, my boyfriend and I headed to the local McDonalds. Yes, I know, it’s not the typical choice for a lovey-dovey evening, what with the screaming kids, greasy food, and that perverted clown who’s lovin’ it. But believe it or not, we had a blast.

Love was in the air, although it did have to compete with the aroma of fries and obese children. Nevertheless, as we dug into our food, we couldn’t help but smile and laugh. We were having a literal happy meal. Not even the Hamburglar could have robbed us of our bliss.

But then, tragedy struck.

Let me paint the scene. We were seated on those uncomfortable bench-table combos. My boyfriend was chatting away about the latest Britney Spears gossip, while I idly scanned the back of my paper placemat, which now disappointingly features nutritional facts instead of fun coloring activities. Not cool.

Suddenly, our date was interrupted by a loud noise from the side entrance. The door swung open dramatically, and in rushed a large, shirtless man with what can only be described as McGriddle-like nipples. He emitted a few grunts as he sprinted past our table, arms flailing like he was possessed by Spongebob SquarePants.

As he made a beeline for the restroom, his heavy footsteps echoed against the linoleum. With each stride, his pants drooped lower and lower, eventually revealing a not-so-attractive view of his gaping ass crack.

Once he disappeared into the bathroom, my boyfriend and I exchanged bewildered glances. At first, we were silent, but it wasn’t long before we burst into uncontrollable laughter. I mean, seriously, what on earth had just happened? Was this real life? Should we be concerned?

Once we regained our composure, my boyfriend quipped, “I wonder if he crapped himself.” I chuckled at his comment and glanced around the room, half-hoping to see others also laughing at the absurdity of it all. However, something else caught my eye first. There was something on the floor beside our table.

Curious, I leaned in for a closer look. At first, I couldn’t quite make it out, but then it hit me. Or, well, at least the smell hit me. I suddenly regretted this entire McDonalds date night. It had turned, well, shitty. Because there, right in front of us, was a small stream of poo making its way toward the restroom.

In horror, I pointed at the offending mess, letting out a whispered shriek. And then, in a high-pitched, valley girl voice, I wailed, “HE DID!!!!!”

Panic mode activated as we jumped out of our seats, dodging the unexpected obstacle course of excrement on the floor. We hurried to the counter, desperately flagging down an employee to report the situation. And you won’t believe her response: “Not again.”

At this McDonalds, she did not put a smile on.