Meeting the Pope

John was getting his haircut when he told the barber he was going to Rome on vacation the next day. “Who knows,” said John, “I might even get to meet the Pope!”

“You’ll never meet the Pope,” laughed the barber. “He doesn’t mix with common people anymore.”

“You never know,” said John. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, it won’t happen,” snapped the barber, “and I’m so sure of it, I’ll bet you $100 it won’t happen.”

John agreed to the bet, and two weeks later he returned to barber to get his hair cut and tell him about his vacation. “By the way,” said John, “you owe me $100,” and handed the barber a photo of himself standing next to the Pope.

“My God!” exclaimed the barber. “How did that happen?!”

“Well I was walking through St Peter’s Square,” began John, “when the Pope spotted me from his balcony and summoned me to the Vatican because he had a question to ask.”

The barber’s eyes were wide with amazement as he said, “Really? What did he ask you?”

“He said, ‘My son, where in God’s name did you get that terrible haircut?'”

Meeting the Pope
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One Response to Meeting the Pope

  1. Mr. Rational says:

    This is a very brief version; I heard a much longer one from my dad many years ago. It went on about the trip (airline vs. cruise ship), the weather in Rome (rainy vs. clear), and then went on to the pope.  If I could relate it well I’d write it down here.

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