"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, they're always late, and their flight attendants are ugly. ... 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 say another word. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump. It's the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they're way overpriced... So, whatcha doing when you get there?"
"We're going to go to 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 came back 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 moved us 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!
They'd just finished a five million dollar remodeling job, and now it's a jewel. It's the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the 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. As we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard approached me and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors.
If I would be so kind as to step into his private room, 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'd he say?"
He said, "Where'd you get the shitty hairdo?"