Mark Caplin male escort?

Living here is like living in a dorm or barracks. In the morning or, after work, I flip flop down to the shower. With my bathrobe from Indian Springs spa in Calistoga, soap and shampoo I head on down to the showers. So there I was, taking my after work shower, clean as a whistle, and I reached out of the shower stall only to realize that I forgot my towel. I knew exactly where it was in my room. Amazing thoughts went through my head. One- just run out into the 120 degree heat and get instantly dry. AH, bad idea. I was wondering if this is like a man-dream. You are in a stall in a bathroom, only to realize that you are in the woman's bathroom. I realized that there were other people in the shower. Can't go out now and embarrass myself. Could use my bathrobe; no, bad idea. What to do, what to do? I know, hide in the stall until I have the place to myself. Even if it takes hours. Luckily they all left.  I peeked my head out and realized that there are paper towels in the bathroom. A 6 foot three inch red-haired, very white englishman takes more paper towels than you would think. Luckily they were the heavy duty type, so no shards of paper stuck to my nether regions. Yes, I am a dumb ass.
Wednesday was the day to go get my escort badge after the trauma of making them add an extra, third class and rapid fire lecture followed by a hard test. With the dreaded question #4. We arrived and stood in line and waited our turn. Steve got the young, efficient female solider. I got the 70 year old, hard of hearing sergeant. Really. I believe he served with Custer. Still had arrow wounds. And I had to yell through a small hole in the service window. Steve got his, no problem. Me, not so much. He must of checked the badges three times and couldn't find mine. Shit, I thought. I failed the test. Damn you, question 4! Finally the other two people looked and found my badge, no problem. As we headed back, Steve said that the worst thing about failing would be facing the staff at the clinic. As we backed into the parking spot I took my badge and put it into my pocket. "Tell them that I failed the test," I told Steve. He went in first and told the crew not to ask me about the test. I stormed in afterwards and slammed down the keys and went to my office. Then I pouted and ranted about that stupid test. Everyone started laughing and giving me a bad time. "It's not funny, knock it off," I said. Which made everyone laugh even harder. Then the people with orange badges kept asking me to escort them to different places and then said, "Oh, never mind." "Stupid question 4, how am I supposed to know what gate is open at what time?" "Stupid test." Now I sounded like Homer Simpson. This resulted in gales of laughter from Z, who laughed so hard, she had to go outside. The fact that she had drank 3 large Monster sports drinks, didn't help. She had a pulse of 110 that went up to 140  with her laughing fits. Which happened every time she looked at me. The poor retarded boy who couldn't pass a five question test.
I finally whipped out my card because I was afraid Z would go into SVT if she didn't stop laughing. Well, then we could use our new Lifepack 15 defibrillator...