In the mood for a romantic night out, my boyfriend and I headed to the local McDonald’s. Yes, I know. Nothing says romance like screaming kids, greasy food, and a perverted clown who’s lovin’ it. But trust me, we were having a great time.
Love was in the air. It was a love so strong that it almost overpowered the smell of french fries and obese children. Almost. As we ate our food, we smiled and laughed. We were having a happy meal. Not even the Hamburglar could have robbed us of our bliss.
But then something happened. Something tragic happened. It was something disturbing, nauseating, and maybe even a little amusing.
Let me set the scene. We were seated at one of those painful, cheap plastic bench-table hybrids. My boyfriend was jabbering about the latest Britney Spears gossip, and I was scanning the backside of my paper placemat, which, by the way, now has nutritious facts instead of fun coloring activities. Not cool.
Our date was off to a great start. Soon, however, we were interrupted by a loud noise from the side entrance. The door flung open. We flipped our heads to the sight of a large, hairy man with no shirt and visible McGriddle nipples. The man exhaled a few grunts and sprinted past our table. His arms flailed behind him like he was possessed by Spongebob SquarePants.
As he dashed towards the restroom, his heavy footsteps thudded against the linoleum. With each step, his pants fell a few centimeters closer and closer to the floor. Unfortunately, as he flopped around, my eyes naturally gravitated to his gaping ass crack.
Once he had disappeared into the bathroom, the two of us looked back at each other. At first we were silent, but it wasn’t long until we broke out into spontaneous laughter. I mean, what the hell had just happened? Was that normal? Should we get help?
Once we’d caught our breath, my boyfriend joked, “I wonder if he crapped himself.” I giggled at his remark and began looking around the room. I was hoping to see other people laughing at the spectacle, but unfortunately, something else caught my attention first. There was something on the ground beside our table.
I leaned in to see what it was. At first, I was stumped, but then it hit me. Or, well, at least the smell hit me. I suddenly regretted the whole McDonald’s date night. It had literally turned shitty. For there in front of me was a river of poo flowing toward the bathroom.
In horror, I pointed at the giant turds, let out a whispered-shriek, and then, in a high-pitched valley girl voice, I wailed, “HE DID!!!!!”
Panic mode set in as we jumped out of our seats. We made our way to the counter, all the while playing a riveting game of dodge poo. I flagged down an employee and quickly described the situation. I kid you not, she responded with “not again.”
At this McDonald’s, she did not put a smile on.