A New York woman was at her hairdressers on Park Avenue getting her
hair styled prior to a trip to Rome with her boyfriend.
She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, “Rome?”
Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded & dirty and full of
Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking Continental,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“Continental?” exclaimed the hairdresser. “That’s a terrible airline.
Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly,and they’re
always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s left bank
called Teste…”
“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna
be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump, the worst
hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and
they’re overpriced.
So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people
trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on
this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser
asked her about her trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the woman, “not only were we on time in
one of Continental’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they
bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful and I had a
handsome 28-year-old steward, who waited on me hand and foot. And the
hotel — it was great! They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling
job and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too,
were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite
at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the hairdresser, “that’s all well and good, but I
know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky because as we toured the Vatican, a
Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope
likes to meet some of the visitors and if I’d be so kind as to step
into his private room, an