💩 The World's Most Expensive Poop

This is a true story.

One night during COVID, I ate what should have been a completely normal meal.

Nothing crazy. Nothing adventurous. Nothing that should have created any kind of emergency.

I was staying in Orange County for work, bored out of my mind, and there was basically nothing to do. So I did what a lot of people do when they’re bored in Southern California.

I went for a drive.

Just a cruise. No plan. No destination. Just me, the road, and the quiet weirdness of COVID-era California.

By the time things started going wrong, I was about 20 or 30 minutes away from where I was staying.

And that mattered.

Because at that point in my life, my gut was unbelievably unpredictable.

I wasn’t out crushing spicy food or doing anything reckless. But I had become sensitive to almost everything. Plain steak? Usually fine. A simple potato? Safe enough. But the second I added sauce, seasoning, dressing, or anything even slightly suspicious, my stomach could turn on me.

And when it did, I had what I called “the timer.”

The timer was not subtle.

It felt like a full-body alarm. The hairs on my arms would stand up. I’d get goosebumps. My stomach would drop. And from that moment, I knew exactly what was happening.

I had five minutes to find a toilet, or it's coming out whether I liked it or not.

That night, while I was driving around Orange County, the timer hit.

Hard.

I remember gripping the steering wheel and immediately realizing this was a bad one. I was already far from where I was staying, it was around midnight, and because it was COVID, almost nothing was open. Even places that were technically open weren’t letting people inside.

I started searching my phone for anything nearby.

Diners. Closed.

Gas stations. Closed.

Fast food places. Closed.

Anything with a public bathroom. Closed.

The panic started becoming very real.

At one point, I genuinely began preparing myself for the possibility that I might have to pull over somewhere under a highway overpass and handle the situation like a man who had completely lost control of his life.

I even remember seeing homeless people under the overpass and thinking, “In about two minutes, I may be joining them. I hope someone has toilet paper.”

But I didn’t give up.

Then I remembered where I was.

Anaheim.

Near the big hotels. The convention hotels. The kind with huge lobbies, long hallways, and public bathrooms built for conferences and crowds.

That was my only chance.

I drove to one of the large hotels, parked as fast as I could, and rushed inside.

The lobby was massive and completely empty. COVID empty. Quiet, immaculate, and strange. There was one person at the front desk, and I’m sure from his point of view I looked insane - he probably though I was on drugs.

I was sweating, speed-walking, and using every ounce of strength I had to keep myself together.

Then I saw it.

The washroom sign.

Salvation.

I moved toward it like my life depended on it.

The man at the front desk called out, “Sir? Can I help you?”

I ignored him.

There was no time for manners. No time for explanation. No time for anything except that bathroom door.

I reached it, grabbed the handle, and pulled.

Locked.

And that’s when I let out the most desperate, defeated, painfully honest sound a grown man can make in a hotel lobby:

“Oh nooooo.”

Not a quiet “oh no.”

Not a polite “oh dear.”

A full, elongated, soul-leaving-my-body “oh nooooo.”

Because in that exact moment, I knew I was finished. I was going to poop in this lobby.

The front desk man had followed me over, still trying to figure out what was happening. I turned around, sweating like I had just run a marathon, and said the only honest thing I could say:

“You have to help me. Please, I’m going to poo my pants.”

He looked shocked.

Fair enough.

I asked him to open the bathroom.

He said he couldn’t. The public washrooms were closed because of COVID. Not just closed to visitors. Closed completely. No guests. No exceptions. No emergency mercy key hidden behind the desk.

I begged him.

He apologized.

There was no key. No rescue. 

And then he explained that only guests are allowed to enter the hotel at this time.

Realizing what my only option was, I looked at him and said:

“Give me a room.”

A minute later, I paid $225 US dollars for a hotel room I had no intention of sleeping in.

Just to take a poo.

To his credit, the man processed that room as fast as he possibly could. I grabbed the key card, ran upstairs, got into the room, and the second the door closed behind me, I started ripping my clothes off like the building was on fire.

No dignity. Just a trail of clothes leading to the toilet.

And I made it.

Barely.

I survived one of the most dramatic digestive emergencies of my life.

I stayed in that bathroom for about 30 minutes.

Then I cleaned up, got dressed, walked back downstairs, got in my car, and left.

I never slept in the room.

I didn’t use the bed.

I didn’t enjoy the hotel.

I paid $225 for one reason.

And that, to this day, remains the world’s most expensive poop.

-

SuperAkki® was created because I know what it feels like when your gut is running the show. When food stops feeling simple. When your day, your plans, your confidence, and sometimes even your dignity can feel like they’re at the mercy of your stomach.

This product was built from that experience.

And it changed my life. Maybe SuperAkki® can change yours?

Support your gut. Keep your dignity.

Sincerely, your friend in gut-health, Greg Loukas