A woman was at the local salon having her hair styled for an upcoming trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: Rome?
Why would anyone want to go there? Its crowded and dirty. Youre crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?
Were taking Continental, was the reply. We got a great rate!
Continental? exclaimed the hairdresser. Thats a terrible airline.
Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and theyre always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?
Well be at this exclusive little place over on Romes Tiber River called Teste.
Dont go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive, but its really a dump, the worst hotel in the city!
The rooms are small, the service is surly, and theyre overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?
Were going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.
Thats rich, laughed the hairdresser. You and a million other people are trying to see him.
Hell look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. Youre going to need it.
A month later, the woman returned for another hair cut and the hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
It was wonderful, explained the woman. Not only were we on time in one of Continentals 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 was great! Theyd just finished a $5 million remodelling job and now its a jewel, the finest hotel in the city.
They, too, were overbooked, so they apologised and gave us their owners suite at no extra charge!
Well, muttered the hairdresser, thats all well and good, but I know you didnt 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 Id be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand, I knelt down, and he spoke a few words to me.
A woman was at the local salon having her hair styled for an upcoming trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: Rome?
Why would anyone want to go there? Its crowded and dirty. Youre crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?
Were taking Continental, was the reply. We got a great rate!
Continental? exclaimed the hairdresser. Thats a terrible airline.
Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and theyre always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?
Well be at this exclusive little place over on Romes Tiber River called Teste.
Dont go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive, but its really a dump, the worst hotel in the city!
The rooms are small, the service is surly, and theyre overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?
Were going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.
Thats rich, laughed the hairdresser. You and a million other people are trying to see him.
Hell look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. Youre going to need it.
A month later, the woman returned for another hair cut and the hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
It was wonderful, explained the woman. Not only were we on time in one of Continentals 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 was great! Theyd just finished a $5 million remodelling job and now its a jewel, the finest hotel in the city.
They, too, were overbooked, so they apologised and gave us their owners suite at no extra charge!
Well, muttered the hairdresser, thats all well and good, but I know you didnt 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 Id be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand, I knelt down, and he spoke a few words to me.
Oh, really! What did he say?
He said: Where did you get the crappy hairdo?'