When many of us at The District still worked in Santa Ana, it goes without saying that I never got parking tickets in Long Beach. I got them in Orange County–my worst, in fact, was outside of Grand Central Art Center, when they added an extra $76 because I don’t have a front plate. (Which by the way is totally legal in Detroit: Motor City.)

Then I started getting parking tickets in Long Beach. The first was the first of two or three for parking on a section of our driveway that isn’t paved. (Parking on an unpaved driveway is illegal in Long Beach. So is wearing puffy pants. You may be breaking the law right now.)

That first ticket was something of a novelty. I even wrote about it, but then there were others–for parking in my driveway; for pulling in somewhere along Broadway while I went to an art gallery; for parking next to Jim’s Burgers instead of in their lot. Both of those times, it was street sweeping day.

But then, finally, on Tuesday I got a break. I pulled the car out to let my wife get her car out–and then parked it on the unpaved part of the driveway, out of her way. (Our driveway is two-cars wide in front, but only one-car wide in back.)

When she came home, a city parking guy actually stopped by to tell her he’d be back–and to cluck about where I’d parked. “You’d think he’d learn his lesson,” the guy said.

Actually, I had–sort of: after my wife came in and told me to move my car, I went out and moved my car.

Tags: California, Long Beach, parking, Southern California, The District Weekly, Theo Douglas