The Pope arrives at JFK and he’s met at a baggage claim by a driver in a bad suit and a clip-on tie, holding a hand-lettered sign that says, “Pope.”
After getting all the Pope’s luggage loaded in the limo-and His Holiness doesn’t travel light, the driver notices that the Pope is still standing on the curb.
“Hey, Mr. Pope,” says the driver in accented English, “Why have you not seated yourself in the excellent limo?”
“Well, to tell you the truth,” says the Pope, “They never let me drive at the Vatican, and I’d really like to drive.”
“That is very much against the rules!” protested the driver, wishing he’d never left Calcutta.
“There might be something extra in it for you,” said the Pope.
Reluctantly, the driver got in the back as the Pope got in behind the wheel. The driver quickly regretted his decision when, after clearing the airport, the Pope accelerated the limo to 105 mph.
“Please be driving not so rapidly, Mr. Pope,” pleaded the worried driver, but the Pope kept the pedal to the metal. Then they heard the siren.
“Oh, my Gods, now I am surely losing my license,” moaned the driver.
The Pope pulled over and rolled down the window as the patrolman approached, but the cop took one look at him, went back to his motorcycle, and got on the radio.
“I need to talk to the Chief,” he said to the dispatch.
When the Chief got on the radio, the cop told him that he’d stopped a limo going a hundred and five.
“So bust him,” said the Chief.
“I think the guy’s a big shot,” said the cop.
“All the more reason.”
“No, I mean really a big shot,” said the cop.
“What’d ya got there, the Mayor?”
“Well,” said the Chief, “Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” said the cop. “But he’s got the Pope driving for him.”