Toto, We're Not in Kansas Anymore
When I was trying to decide whether to move to L.A., people kept telling me, "L.A. isn't like New York; the people in L.A. are nice." Which was a particularly interesting thing to tell a New Yorker.
To park anywhere within a 10-minute walk of my apartment for more than two hours or on the weekend, you need a parking permit (which required among other things a California driver's license, so I am officially not a New Yorker anymore. Sigh). So, until I got a permit, I had to park quite far from my apartment. (Which may have once involved losing my car in that I could not remember where I had parked it.)
While walking toward my car after one of these treks, I saw a piece of paper on the windshield and freaked out. A ticket, really? After owning the car for not even 48 hours?
It was a not a ticket. It was a note that said: "It would be helpful to me if you did not block my walkway." A walkway. Apparently L.A.-ers are all sweet and helpful and nice to pedestrians (seriously, cars stop in the middle of nowhere to let pedestrians cross the street) until you block their walkways.