Everything Joe tells his barber, the barber disagrees with, but Joe has gone to him anyway, faithfully, every two weeks for the last 30 years.
So Joe wasn't surprised when he told his barber he was going to Italy that the barber would reply, "Why are you going there; it's an old dusty city."
"Well I'm goin' anyway, with my wife," replied Joe."
"What airline are you taking?" the barber asked.
"I'm taking Italia airlines," said Joe.
"What? That plane will probably crash. Italians don't know how to take care of airlines. And let me tell you, if you get there the room probably won't even have running water and you'll have to use the bathroom down the hall." The barber was really going at it now.
"I don't care, the wife and I are going to see the Pope," said Joe, firm in his decision to visit Italy.
"Ha! visit the Pope... let me tell you exactly what it will be like. You'll be standing out in hot St. Peter's Basilica Square crowded in with 50,000 other people. Oh sure you'll see the Pope! About a quarter mile away! He'll come out on a tiny balcony, wave for 15 seconds then disappear into the building." The barber was at it at his worst.
"I'm going with my wife and nothing's going to change my mind." Joe was even more adamant now.
Two weeks later Joe returns and tells the barber what a wonderful trip he had with his wife to Italy. "The airplane ride was smooth and the crew was wonderful. I never had such a beautiful flight in all my years, up and back."
The barber just grunted.
Joe continued, "And the room was gorgeous! Jacuzzi bath, fresh flowers brought to us everyday and the most comfortable bed we ever slept in."
Again the barber let out another grunt.
Joe went on about how beautiful and clean the city was and the food never tasted better in his life.
The barber didn't seem too happy about being wrong until Joe told him, "You were right."
"About what?" the barber asked.
"About seeing the Pope," said Joe.,"Yeah, the Basilica of St. Peter was mobbed, probably more than 50,000 people, and boy was it hot and humid."
Now the barber was laughing, reminding Joe that he had told him so.
"Yep, you were absolutely right!" said Joe. About one hour I waited, way way in the back of St. Peter's Square, more than a quarter mile away, smelling my own and everybody's sweat.Then, suddenly, the Pope comes out on a tiny balcony, waves for 15 seconds and just as fast disappears into the building."
The barber now is laughing so hard tears are streaming down his cheeks." What did I tell you? What did I tell you Joe?" the barber repeated himself.
"I know, I know!" Joe agreed. "But then there was an uproar from the crowd. The Pope actually walked right out into the crowd with the Swiss guards surrounding him."
"What!?" the barber was now listening with his mouth open.
"That's right! Right out there with the people...thousands of them. And not only that you could hear the cheers of the crowd getting closer and closer toward where I was standing. The Pope he just kept moving non-stop and getting closer to me with every step as if on a mission from Jesus Christ Himself!"
The barber was mesmerized and couldn't seem to say anything except, "go on."
And Joe did go on. "Closer and closer the Pope walked until he was right there in front of me, two feet away!"
The barber was amazed.
"And then he reached out with all the Swiss guards surrounding him and all the hundreds of people staring at both of us and shook my hand with such sorrow in his eyes. And you know what he told me?"
The barber couldn't take it any more and blurted out, "No, no what did he tell you? Tell me!"
Joe replied,"The Pope looked at me with deep concern in his eyes and said, "My son, where in the hell did you get that lousy haircut?"