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The Pittsburgh Parking chair is illegal AF, but should probably be respected due to the collateral consequences trying to take it down, literally and figuratively.
My first born-in-this country grandmother spoke English and Polish fluently, and one of her favorite Polish proverbs was “that’s not your circus, and those aren’t your monkeys” which, for those inadept at proverbs outside of the Bible, means that one should mind their own business and not get involved in other people’s situations, especially circuses.
Out here in the elitist stronghold of Upper Snooty Clair, we do not have parking chairs, only valet parking, but I lived in the city, and remember another true-ish to life Yinzer adventure that might bring the parking chairs and circus monkeys together in a cognizable manner.
Back before 9/11, everything was better - such as being able to fly almost anywhere non-stop from Pittsburgh, and the Southside was the place to live as a twenty-something. No shootings. Vomit was at a historic low, and no cover at almost all the bars. You could shoot pool at Jack’s for 50 cents (the amount, not the rapper). Matrix was the hot night club in Station Square, and DUI still wasn’t really a crime, as it predated the significantly enhanced penalties that are now law.
Smartphones and texting didn’t exist, so you had to meet people the old-fashioned way, by talking to them in person! Wow!
What a concept - getting to know somebody by talking to them, as opposed to what they want you to see on their Bumble profile and finding out after a few months hot second of dating that they are twisted AF!
Jessica and her gal pals Monica, Erica, Rita, Tina and Sandra were decked out in the height of Southside bar fashion for the new millennium: chunky Steve Madden shoes, tapered dark jeans, black sweaters and straightened hair, varying from shoulder length to mid shoulder, with an obnoxious clip in the back. Strolling into Jack’s, they wandered into the backroom where the pool tables, and a few struggling law students hung out chain smoking cigarettes hustling pool games and drinking kamikaze shots by the pitcher, were to be found. They sat down at the bar around the PlayTouch machine and immersed themselves in a raucous game of Photo Hunt filled with vodka cranberry drinks, even getting up to dance when Mambo No. 5 came on the jukebox.
Over at the pool tables, Joe Montour was on fire, sinking two stripes on the break and picking off the remaining stripes like a sniper. He was just down to the 8 ball for the win, with his opponent not even having gotten a chance to shoot. The shot wasn’t easy, it had to be a behind-the-back shot with just enough power to send the 8 ball into the corner pocket, but with a lot of draw to avoid scratching the cue ball. Joe put his butt on the table, leaned back, drew the cue, and shot, just as Jessica had tilted her barstool back too far and started falling backward, directly toward Joe. Seeing Jessica falling out of the corner of his eye, Joe dropped the cue stick and caught her, just as the 8 ball dropped in the corner pocket.
There stood Joe, in Jack’s backroom, Camel Light hanging from his mouth, holding Jessica like a baby, to the cheers of the pool and bar crowd.
Just then, he noticed Jessica’s tapered jeans, which touched the floor at the heel of her Steve Maddens, had wicked up all the gross liquid from the floor of the bar, and he set her down with a disgusted look on his face.
Joe looked down at his shirt, and seeing it free of any bar floor transfer from Jessica’s jeans, he smiled and introduced himself. While I am sure you, dear reader, are interested in how it went from there, we shall just accelerate to the first date you knew was going to come out of this as we fast forward to the very next Friday night. Joe had spent all day polishing his Z-28 IROC - you know, the one with the cool ground effects and membership to the Hair Club for Men - when the blizzard started.
Mother Nature had second thoughts about Joe’s date with Jessica tonight, as a foot of snow fell in just one-hour, breaking weather records and most of what we know about science.
Meanwhile, in front of Jessica’s house, Uncle Stash was pulling his Chevy Citation from the curb, stopping to place a chair he stole from the bar at the Noble Manor Lanes to save his parking spot – because HE shoveled that spot. He was off to the Polish War Vets for a few Zywiecs, a shot of Krupnik and some banter with old friends. Uncle Stashwas a de facto Uncle to everybody in Jessica’s neighborhood, and he parked in front of her house, because she didn’t have a car. Uncle Stash’s parking chair was revered by his “nieces” and “nephews” in the neighborhood.
Nobody would dare move it - until this evening.
Joe was the dues ex machina, being sprinted down Bigelow Boulevard by the Z-28 as it lashed right and left by its own volition, due to the bald tires and icy roads. He was only along for the ride, until he found himself in front of Jessica’s house. Pulling out his Cellular One Motorola Piper, he called Jessica to inform her of his arrival. “Oh, well since the roads are so terrible and, frankly baby, it’s cold outside, why don’t you come in and relax with me by the fire?” said Jessica at the off-peak cellular airtime rate of $1 aminute. Faster than Mr. Rogers changing his shoes, Joe got out of the Z-28, tossed Uncle Stash’s parking chair to the sidewalk, pulled in to the empty spot, and ran up to Jessica’s house to smash…some cans of IC Light.
Thirty minutes later, a drunk AF Uncle Stash returned home to find Joe’s car in his spot and the parking chair smashed on the sidewalk. Initally, he thought he went to the wrong house, as no Pittsburgher would disrespect his chair, as he had on several occasions ended up at the wrong house after a night at the Polish War Vets, but on further inspection of the chair, and noting Jessica’s house number 1469, he was left with no choice. Uncle Stash retrieved the Horn of Odin from his glove box, he was 10% Norse, and raised it to his lips to emit the battle cry of his people, a sound none of his “nieces” and “nephews” could ignore…the WTAE Action News theme!
Joe, in the throes of dry humping, didn’t hear the crowd assemble around his beloved Z-28 IROC and - two buttons deep into Jessica’s Levi’s button flys - also missed the sound of the throng reducing his car to pieces the size of sprinkles at Page Dairy Mart.
Joe awoke the next morning to his jeans and Joe boxers stuck to his body, as well as Uncle Stash’s car parked where his Z-28 had been.
“I must have parked further down,” he told himself, as he clicked the remote to hear “Viper Disarmed,” but sadly no siren song came, nor did Jessica, if you really want to know.
Well kids, looks like we have stumbled into a tale of street justice, Yinzer style, with fries, of course. It is well settled and absolute that the law doesn’t recognize parking chairs having the legal authority to reserve public parking spaces, and might even incurliability on the individual placing the chair in the event an accident is caused by it being placed in the road.
However, we all know that even though the Pittsburgh Parking Chair is - admit it - illegal AF, is it really worth disrespecting? You could be confronted by the chair owner. Then shot, punched, kicked, beat or have your car keyed or destroyed. I’m not one to ever cave to illegality and mob rule, but my legal advice here is to respect the chair, avoid pissing matches, and if it is truly, madly, deeply a problem, call the cops to deal with it.
Speaking of which, there is a certain place on the Southside where somebody slaps fresh inspection stickers on wrecks to take up about 5 parking spaces, so that would be a worthy call to the cops. Otherwise, leave Uncle Stash to being Uncle Stash, and you will save yourself a lot of aggravation, your insurance deductible, and might learn how to properly appreciate a girl like Jessica.
DISCLAIMER: This article is general educational and “meh” throwback entertainment, and does not constitute an attorney-client relationship. Every situation is different, and you should consult legal counsel of your choosing to discuss your situation before going ape shit about parking chairs, whether placing or removing, you filthy animals!
DISCLAMER OF SHADE: Your brother-in-law’s friend that is an attorney will disagree with this article, because he disrespected a parking chair once and it cost him the one testicle he was born with.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Attorney Biedrzycki (baa-jet-skee) is a graduate of Villanova University and the Duquesne University School of Law, and a proud graduate of kindergarten at Sheraden Elementary. He has handled personal injury, criminal defense, consumer protection, business/real estate matters in Pittsburgh and beyond for over 20 years, with a little bit of humor and a whole lot of panache. In addition to lawyering, he is a FAA licensed pilot, loves to travel, and enjoys bougie cars, French wines, is the Rupert Mannion of high school cup soccer, and otherwise described by the haters as hollow, shallow and brutally handsome. His office is in Upper St. Clair and has free parking. For more info, check out @steelcitylawyer on Twitter for links to all the socials.