Airport Restrooms



Last day of my Pittsburgh binge at  Joe’s Rusty NailJack’s Bar and the Stroll Inn celebrating the Pittsburgh Magazine, Best of 2014 recognition for ” Best Snarky Nod Toward Local Behavior 

Sean of Sean’s Ramblings, take us into the weekend!

Traveling with kids is difficult.

A 12-pound infant needs a car seat, stroller, formula, bottles, diapers, wipes and multiple changes of clothes for when he/she spits up on the current outfit. All of this stuff is significantly heavier than the baby itself. Flying with two kids, particularly with both in diapers, brings an even greater degree of difficulty. You just try to get to and from your destination without meltdowns and with as little disruption to the other passengers as possible.

Inevitably, you will need several diaper changes during the trip. Just pray that you don’t have to do this on the airplane! Fortunately, most (if not all) airports have family restrooms or at least changing stations in the restrooms. Family restrooms make it much easier for diaper changes and for when you need to go potty yourself without worrying about leaving your kids unattended. However, some individuals decide that they would rather have the privacy of their own restroom even if they don’t have any kids with them.

I was at an airport (not Pittsburgh) recently with family restrooms but no changing stations in the regular restroom. Unless you want to change a diaper in public (and no one wants that especially for the disposal aspect), the only place to comfortably change the diaper was in the family restroom. I waited more than 10 minutes for a family restroom before finally giving up and calling my wife for help. In case you’re wondering, I tried the door several times and even knocked once asking if everything was okay. I got no response. When I switched with my wife, she saw a woman exiting the family restroom alone.

To this woman (and to anyone else using a family restroom without a family at an airport), suck it up and use the “regular” bathroom like everyone else, Ya Jagoff!

Follow Sean’s regular ramblings on Sean’s Ramblings and on Twitter @SeansRamblings

The Non-Attentive Cashier – “It’s Sunday”


Only today and tomorrow left in my binge of  Joe’s Rusty NailJack’s Bar and the Stroll Inn celebrating the Pittsburgh Magazine, Best of 2014 recognition for ” Best Snarky Nod Toward Local Behavior

Today’s Guest Blogger is Frances Sansig of the Frances Files Podcast.


I’m the kind of person who likes to acknowledge that you are also a person. I think that’s called basic, human decency.

So when I’m checking out at the grocery store, usually, no one close to me is dying (that’s my litmus test for, “Is this call important?”), I stay off my phone because I want to be fully present. Hell, I’ll work with you to complete my transaction. Your job isn’t glamorous. You’re on your feet all day, you take shit from people, you aren’t getting paid much and you probably have someone who depends on you. I OWE you that dignity.

I can start bagging for you while you scan my sweaty buy-one-get-one-free chicken breasts and I honestly want to BE THERE FOR YOU when you ask, “Is this parsley or cilantro?” You want to tell me you figured out I’m making chicken pot pie by the items on the belt? I’m all ears. You’re paying attention. We’re interacting. I think that’s cool. And with keen eyes like that, you could catch a serial killer.

Which is why I get my Spanx all up in a bunch when you’re on the clock and you’re not reciprocating, like when happened last week when I was at a drug store in town, plunked my assorted bandages and an Oprah magazine on the counter, and I say “Hello” to you, but you’re ignoring me and my Oprah magazine because you are inexplicably enraptured by what you must think is the world’s FUNNIEST joke that your manager is telling, just a few feet away.

See, now — I get that folks have bad days. You might be in pain and I might not know it. Your husband might have just left you. Your grandma might have died last week and you’re thinking about her. Those are all good reasons for you not to give a damn about me or Oprah. But when you’re just being stupid? I’ll call you on it.

So when I ask you a question about my purchase and you continue to avoid eye contact with me, and keep looking OVER me like I’m in your way, so as not to MISS A SINGLE WORD OF THIS GODAWFUL DUMB JOKE, I get annoyed.

When I try to get the hell out because I’m so irritated and I’m ready to say something to embarrass you in front of the other customers, you yell, “Wait, you forgot your receipt.

Now you’ve asked for it. “Well, MAYBE you would have noticed that if you had answered me when I asked you about it, but you were too enthralled in your manager’s STUPID joke!

Then you laugh it all off and say, “I heard you, but, you know, it’s Sunday.

It’s SUNDAY? Your excuse is even lamer than the guy’s joke, which is lamer than his moustache. The level of lame here is so deep it would take a MONTH OF SUNDAYS for you to dig your ass out of it.

“Sorry I wrecked into you and killed your entire family because I wasn’t paying attention, but you know, it IS Sunday!”

“Sorry this meal you’re eating at the restaurant where I work has a rat in it, but you know: IT’S SUNDAY!”

“Sorry I’m total D-bag and had sex with your husband in your bed, but it is, after all, Sunday.”

I might have cut you some slack if the joke were remotely funny. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t even as funny as your raggedy uniform outfit. Which I’m guessing you wore because IT WAS SUNDAY, Ya Jagoff!

How Old is a “Sir?”


That’s J.J. Hensley, Pittsburgh crime fiction author up there.

I have a couple of more days running around to  Joe’s Rusty NailJack’s Bar and the Stroll Inn celebrating the

Pittsburgh Magazine, Best of 2014 recognition for ” Best Snarky Nod Toward Local Behavior ,

So here’s J.J.’s guest blog.

I’m 39 years old, but look significantly younger. Even when I’m sleep-deprived and in desperate need of coffee, I still appear much younger than my years. That is why there is no excuse for what recently happened to me in the parking lot of a local Best Buy.

When my wife and I moved here from the D.C. area in 2006, it took us a while to get used to Western PA attitudes. If a clerk in a store asked us how we were doing, our first thought was, “What the hell business is it of yours?” Friendliness had become foreign to us. Upon moving here, I’ve come to accept this change. However, some things cannot be forgiven.

We were leaving Best Buy and I was preparing to put my daughter in a car seat. As many of you know, this is not always a quick process. So, when a couple of guys walked up to the junker car next to us and wanted to leave, I had no problem stepping aside and saying, “You guys go first. This can take a while.” That’s when it happened. One of those two, rough-looking, tattooed, 25 year-olds actually said it. He said it loud and clear. He said, “No problem, ___.

I stood there in stunned silence as the guys pulled away. Doing my best to stay calm, I put my daughter in the car and then placed myself in the passenger seat. My wife started to speak to me, but then she saw my expression and knew something was amiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I tried to unclench my teeth.

“What is it?” she tried again.

“Did you hear what that guy called me?”

“No,” she told me. “What did he call you?”

My fists were tight and my jaw tighter. I did my best to keep my voice level. I kept my voice low, so my daughter would not hear.
I replied, “He called me… Sir.”

What… the… hell?

Look here, Western Pennsylvania – civility has its limits. I’ve done my best to adapt. I don’t think twice when I see fries on my salad. I don’t blink when someone asks me for a gum band. You want to reserve a parking space with a plastic chair? Have at it! But, you will not teach your children to call a thirty-something “Sir.” I still get carded at the Olive Garden for God’s sake.

And to you, random 25 year-old in a Best Buy parking lot: You may think you’re being respectful. You may think that a man putting a child in a sensible family vehicle is your “elder”. You may think positive Karma is heading your way because of your attitude. It’s not. All you have accomplished is to get this Pittsburgh-area transplant to say a phrase he has never before uttered. That’s right. I’m saying it for the very first time, Ya Jagoff!


You can stay up on J.J.’s books by going to his website, HensleyBooks.