Super rude hairdresser

A woman enters a hair salon and mentions she and her husband will bi taking a trip to Rome to the hairdresser.

“Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? asked the hairdresser. “It’s crowded and dirty. You’re crazy to go to Rome . So, how are you getting there?”

“We’re taking Continental,” she replied. “We got a great rate!”

“Continental?” exclaimed the hairdresser.” 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 this exclusive little place over on the Tiber River called Teste.”

“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump.”

“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get 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 in for another 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 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! They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it’s a jewel, one of the finest hotels in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their 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, 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 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 through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me..”

“Oh, really! What’d he say ?”

Related Posts

Miss Helen, a long-time regular at our café, was sitting by herself at a table set up for her 72nd birthday, with no one showing up to join her. When I asked where her guests were, she quietly said that none of her family had come. It was heartbreaking, so I went to the manager’s office with a plan to make things right. (check in first comment👇)

Laughed with her, reminded her she was loved. Then the café owner walked in. We held our breath, expecting backlash.Instead, he pulled up a chair and joined…

I Paid for Stepdaughter’s Wedding but She Chose Bio Dad to Give Her Away, So I Made Declaration during Toast

In an unexpected turn of events, a stepfather funded his stepdaughter’s wedding, only to be hurt when she chose her biological father to walk her down the…

I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW SOMEONE CAN COME TO CHURCH LIKE THIS! I THEN CONFRONTED HER AND HER RESPONSE LEFT ME IN SHOCK!After the service, I saw her outside and decided to approach her. I tried to be polite, but I told her that I felt her look wasn’t really appropriate for church and maybe she should consider toning it down in such a setting.She looked at me like I was crazy and sharply told me something that left me in shock…

A female churchgoer shared a story of a woman who visited the church and attended the service one Sunday. The person sharing the story believed the woman…

«She started as a poor girl with many siblings before rising to fame as a country music star:👏She is currently 77 years old!»😮 Read more in the comment👇🏻👇🏻

One of twelve siblings was born, a small girl, on a chilly day in 1946 in the Tennessee highlands, at the start of this engrossing tale. Though…

MY LANDLORD RAISED MY RENT BECAUSE I GOT A PROMOTION—BIG MISTAKE MESSING WITH A SINGLE WORKING MOM OF THREE I’m a single mom of three—4, 7, and 11—and work full-time in logistics. We live in a modest two-bedroom rental. My kids share a room; I sleep on a pull-out couch. Not ideal, but it’s safe and close to school and work. Our landlord, Frank, thinks owning property makes him a genius. Ignores texts, delays repairs, and once said, “You should be grateful you’ve got a place at all with all those kids.” Still, I stayed. The rent kept creeping up, but it was manageable—until my promotion. After eight years of showing up early and never using sick days, I became operations manager. The raise wasn’t huge, but it meant I could finally say yes to little things for kids—field trips, cereal that isn’t store brand, shoes that fit. I posted a small LinkedIn update: “Proud to say I’ve been promoted to Operations Manager. Hard work pays off.” Two days later, I got this email: “Rental Adjustment Notice.” Frank was raising my rent by $500. No improvements. No reason. Just: “Saw your little promotion post—congrats! Figured now’s the perfect time to squeeze a bit more out of you.” I called him. “Why now?” His response: “You wanted a career and a bunch of kids—that comes with bills. You’re not broke anymore, so don’t expect charity. This is business, not a daycare.” Now, I could’ve gone to housing services. I could’ve called a lawyer. But I had a better idea. One that would cost me nothing… and teach Frank everything. I knew two things about Frank: 1. He was lazy. ⬇️⬇️ (Continues in comment)

Part 1 of 6: The Quiet Victory and the Quiet Threat I’m not a petty person. Petty doesn’t fit into my schedule. Between raising three kids and…

MY PARENTS SAID SHE’S “TOO BIG” FOR ME—BUT THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M ABOUT TO DO So here’s how the last Sunday dinner went down. I brought my fiancée, Mallory, over to meet my parents officially. She’s tall, broad-shouldered, platinum blonde, and yeah—she’s not a size two. But Mallory’s the warmest, sharpest, most loyal person I’ve ever met. She lights up every room she walks into, even if she doesn’t fit into whatever narrow box people expect. My mom barely smiled when she hugged her. My dad wouldn’t even look her in the eye. The whole meal felt like sitting on top of a powder keg. Then, as soon as Mallory stepped out to take a call, my mom leaned in like she couldn’t wait. She said, dead serious, “Honey… you sure you want to marry someone that big? You’re a small guy. It’s not a good match.” My dad chimed in, talking about “health” and how I’d “resent it later.” I felt like the table flipped upside down. I couldn’t even process it at first. I just stared at them, thinking about how Mallory always cooks for me when I’m stressed, how she pays attention to every little thing I like, how she’s the first person I’ve ever felt completely safe with. I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend her. I just said nothing. (continues in the first comment🗨️⬇️

Last Sunday dinner was supposed to be a big step forward. I brought my fiancée, Mallory, over to my parents’ house for an official introduction. I wanted…