A woman was having her hair styled at the salon in preparation for a vacation to Rome with her spouse. When she told the hairdresser about her trip, the stylist said, “Rome? Who would want to visit that place? It is filthy and congested. You’re insane for visiting Rome! How are you traveling there then?
Answer: “We’re taking Continental.” “We received a great rate.”
The hairdresser screamed, “Continental?” “That airline is awful.” They’re constantly late, have dated aircraft, and ugly flight attendants. Where are you now staying in Rome?
We’ll be at Teste, a swanky little spot on the Tiber River in Rome.
“Stop right there. I am familiar with the location. Everyone anticipates it to be something unique and exceptional, but it’s just a dump.
“We’re going to the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope,” was the statement made.
The hairdresser laughed and said, “That’s rich.” You are trying to view him, along with a million other people. If you do see him, he will resemble an ant in size. Good luck on your miserable vacation, boy. You’ll need it, I assure you.
The woman returned for a hairstyle a month later. She was questioned by the hairdresser about her vacation to Rome.
It was great, the woman said. We boarded a brand-new Continental aircraft on time, and because it was overbooked, they upgraded us to first class. The meal and wine were excellent, and I had a charming 28-year-old steward who catered to all of my needs.
The hotel was also excellent. They had recently done a $5 million renovation, and the hotel is now a gem and the best in the city. They also had a full schedule, so they apologized and offered us their owner’s suite at no additional cost.
Well, that’s all well and good, but I know you didn’t get to see the Pope, the hairdresser murmured.
As we were touring the Vatican, a Swiss Guard grabbed me on the shoulder and said, “Actually, we were quite lucky. The Pope likes to meet some of the visitors. If you’d just mind going into his private room and waiting, the Pope would personally greet you.” Yes, the Pope came through the door and shook my hand five minutes later. He addressed me after I had knelt down.
I see, truly. How did he say that?
He merely asked, “Who messed up your hair?”