Night of the Iguana

Our awards night, my corporate boss thought this up with fine dining, much cash and chairman's gilded cup; as awardee, they shacked me up in a five-star in Hongkong where I felt I was some superstar. After a warm bath, I consulted the mirror, checked my body for any overlooked error; inhaled, puffed my chest up, flattened that beer belly, flexed my biceps, almost convinced I was Bruce Lee. I even thought it should not have been Pitt but me as the champion Achilles in Troy, the movie; for there stood I, a demigod of mythology, proudly prancing, preening in self-love's apogee. A thump on the massive door smashed my reverie; with a towel round my waist, I peeped out to see; finding no one, I stepped out to catch the prankster; must be the aircon wind for not a soul was there. But then, the door slammed deafeningly behind me, locking me out in the bright hallway with no cardkey; from nowhere, young lady guests elegantly dressed with smooth tuxedoed escorts, strolled straight towards me. I panicked and froze in indescribable shame though they didn't and wouldn't even know my name; so there stood I, a semi-nude dude from the sauna nervously blinking like a startled iguana!