I have been a regular caller at Hello Mister for several years and thus far have found little cause for complaint. Your decor is pleasing (I commend you on the ceiling mirrors - tres délicieux!), your prices reasonable, and your ladies, well, they are among the finest medium-budget collections in Australia. In short, many are the pleasurable half-hours I have spent patronising your establishment, and I have always made it my business to recommend you most heartily to my friends.
Last Tuesday, however, I dropped in for some mid-afternoon relief and was shocked to discover that the Hello Mister I love has been transformed almost beyond recognition. For a start, the discreet side entrance is no more, replaced by a distinctly indiscreet front entrance, complete with a garish red neon heart pierced by a flashing purple arrow, promising (as the duty manager explained it) if not love, then at least a reasonably affordable analogue of same.
Once past this tacky bit of signage, further changes were in evidence. The decor has been modernised. Gone are the plush sofas, the grand piano, the cosily smokey bar area. In their place stand pool tables, "ergonomic" chairs, and a bar so overladen with flourescent drinks that one daren't approach without first applying sunscreen. Once upon a time ( that wistful age - last week!) the ground floor of Hello Mister was a place where a gentleman might repair for a pick-me-up before adjourning upstairs for a stint in the sack. Now it plays host to an amorphous cadre of tracksuited bogans, who tap their pool cues on the floor, sink their tinnies and generally behave in a manner once recognised as boorish but now apparently accepted as the height of social grace. What the ladies must make of these beasts, I can only speculate.
Ah yes - the ladies! Hello Mister's ceaseless parade of lovely limber lasses has always played merry hell with both one's passions and one's wallet; this, let us confess, is the reason, considerations of decor and atmosphere aside, for your establishment's immense popularity. I have travelled widely and spent freely, but rarely have I encountered a stable of willing fillies of the standard offered by Hello Mister. Educated, intelligent, and devilishly good value for money, your ladies have always tickled my fancy, often several times in a single session.
Needless to say, Tuesday brought disappointments in this area, also. Style is out; crassness is in. Whereas of old the ladies perched pertly in the downstairs lounge, indulging in conversation and warmly receptive of approach, the "new" Hello Mister resembles nothing so much as a market stall, with the freshly-sluttified ladies pouting and posing at the bar, their synthetic mammaries practically bursting from their "dresses" in a most unbecoming manner. This new batch seems rougher than one has come to expect. One is bidden forth with a wink and a salacious comment, informed of the house rules, and ushered upstairs to the remodelled rooms, where further crimes against the colour spectrum have been committed in the name of "style".
I was lucky enough to find one of the old guard, a lady named Angel whose efficiency and dedication I have enjoyed many times before. However, I soon discovered that she is no longer Angel, she is now Tiffany. "A client complained," she informed me. "So many of our clients are religious. It doesn't pay to blaspheme." I was aghast at such weak-livered pandering to political correctness. Is this a house of ill repute, I asked "Tiffany", or is it not? She thought that perhaps it is not, anymore, and I was so put out that my pleasure in the next half-hour's activities was distressingly dulled.
I am writing directly to you, Madam, as I am certain you cannot be aware of these changes. I notice your management staff are relative newcomers, and are apparently reforming zealots of a particularly populist stripe. I trust you will investigate the matter personally, and restore Hello Mister to its former glory. For surely, in such an establishment, the customer must come first?