Dave was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome.
He mentioned the trip to the barber, who responded, “Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty and full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking United,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“United!” exclaimed the barber. “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 the downtown International Marriott.”
“That dump! That’s the worst hotel in Rome. 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 barber. “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, Dave again came in for his regular haircut. The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained Dave. “Not only were we on time in one of United’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 beautiful young stewardess who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel! Well, it was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodeling job and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They were overbooked too, so they apologized and gave us the presidential suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the barber. “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for 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 and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked in. As I knelt down he spoke to me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Where’d you get this shitty haircut?’”
