It really seemed like a magical special-treatment day starting from my drive to Downtown Los Angeles, which I normally avoid like I dodge kiwi (which, if you know me, is an impressive amount of dodging). The weather was great, not too hot, bright but overcast, and the 50 mile drive which I gave myself almost 2 hours to do, knowing the infamy of LA traffic, only took an hour. The information letter told me the hearing office is located in the Los Angeles Mall underground, which was completely unfamiliar to me. I pulled into an underground parking lot labeled “Los Angeles Mall” despite the navigation system telling me I was a block too early for my destination address. I didn’t find parking and accidentally circled back out to the exit, which presented another problem as I read the sign saying that cash payment was required upon exit. I asked the guy manning the exit booth very nicely if this is the correct parking lot for where I was going, and he said it was and to go one floor up once I park. I then said I’d exited accidentally, how do I get back into the parking area? He said he’d help me out, walked out of the booth and across to the other side of my car, and unchained a roped off part of the parking lot. He waved me in. Wow! I felt so VIP as I waved, thanking him.

Since I was so early, I wandered in the grungy open-air mall and looked for an ATM so that I could withdraw cash to pay for parking upon my exit. I eventually wandered into a drugstore and bought a travel-sized contact lens solution kit, which I will need for my upcoming weekend in Florida, anyway. I then used my ATM card and got cashback. Then I checked in for my hearing at the ticket hearing office, tucked between a storefront and a restaurant, 20 minutes early.

The lady behind the counter in the lobby seemed accustomed to dealing with rude idiots. This was a ticket dispute office, after all. I walked up and started writing my name on the sign-in board. She walked to the window and I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back as she demanded, “You got an appointment?”
“Yes, for 11 o’clock,” I said pleasantly.
“Do you have your appointment letter?” I handed it to her from the manila folder I held in my hands, which contained a copy of all documents I sent and received involving this ticket, plus a new 13-page declaration with 19 photos showing the unpainted curb before and the painted curb now. Without looking at the page I handed her, she simply flipped it over and shoved it back at me, saying flatly, “Sign and date at the bottom.”
I looked down at my signature and date on the bottom, a little confused. Could she not see that? I handed it back to her and she made no motion to take it. I think she may have repeated herself. I said politely, “I already did.”
“Oh!” she looked down finally. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she said. She was a lot nicer after that. I guess unlike most people she deals with on the job, I can read and follow written instructions.

Alone in the lobby/waiting room, I flipped through a magazine until soon, the door opened and a very normal-looking, unintimidating man in his 40s in a dress shirt, slacks and a tie stepped out, calling my name. I smiled and stood, he waved me in, and I followed him to a uniformed officer who did a security check on me with a metal wand and a manual weapons check in my purse. He then pointed me into a small office where the first man sat behind a desk which took up half the closet-sized space.

The man introduced himself, pointed out that this hearing is being tape-recorded and gestured to the old-fashioned cassette tape player on his desk, and I was comforted by the smile I saw in his pleasant eyes. He recited the ticket number and pertinent ticket information, then told me that he’s read the documentation I’d sent in previously, reviewed the attached photos, and it seems like there isn’t much for me to say here, that the issue is simply whether the bus sign is sufficient enough to indicate that this is a no-parking bus zone. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I took it as, he’s announcing I have an uphill battle.
I started by telling him that I have additional evidence to support my point. I’d returned to the scene of the ticket yesterday to take better photos, ones that depicted the exact intersection with street names shown, in case there was any doubt I was photographing a different area. He seemed unconcerned about that. I pulled out my 13-page declaration with new photos attached, and told him that I saw yesterday that the curb is now painted red. His eyes widened just for a second in surprise as he said, “Oh!” I took the opportunity to give my interpretation of the change, which is that this is the City’s acknowledgment of fault, that they knew the bus stop as it was at the time I received the ticket was insufficiently marked to tell people they can’t park there. I went through my new photos, organized into corresponding groups of befores-and-afters, pointed out the photo numbers as I explained what was depicted and what I think it all meant. He looked carefully at the photos I’d pointed to, murmured how thorough I was, and I thought I caught a hint of distaste in his voice as he noted that even with the new curb, no “stencils” were done on the curb. I said that as it is, I may still never know that it’s a bus stop, but at least I would know not to park there, and pointed out all the cars unwittingly parked along the curb in my “before” photos and how the entire street is now clear in the “after” photos.
As I finished my 3-minute presentation, he smiled at me and said, “I was leaning toward you, anyway — the sign ‘Dash’ doesn’t say anything about a bus and like you said, no marked curb, no stencils, no bus bench.”
I said I would’ve been fine if the acronym “Dash” were even spelled out so that I’d know it was referring to a bus. I didn’t think people who didn’t live in this city, and I live in deep south Orange County (he laughed), would know instinctively what “Dash” referred to.
“I don’t think it’s an acronym, is it? I don’t believe it stands for anything that has to do with public transportation.” I was surprised at this, but heck, it makes my point even better. “I’m not in the habit of proclaiming my decisions at the hearings, you’re to get your results in the mail, and this isn’t guaranteed because we’ll need to review your evidence afterwards, but basically, you had me at hello.”
I smiled gratefully and he smiled back.
He continued, “Very well-presented evidence, clean, clear, good presentation, it looks like you put in a lot of work, but it’s always better to be more prepared than not prepared enough. I’m sorry you had to come all the way down here, unless you work in this area and you’re going right back to work.”
“I don’t work in the area, but I took the entire day off because LA traffic is unpredictable.”
He nodded in agreement and approval, and took my new declaration and photos and placed them in my file. I thanked him for his time, shook his hand, and he told me to look for good news in the mail. 😀

When I drove out of the parking lot, I was so happy that I didn’t even care it cost me $10 to park there for an hour. I was getting my $300 back! The parking attendant very nicely greeted me, asked if I’d like a receipt, wished me a great day, gave me a big smile. I thanked him and smiled back.

I think makeup, dressing respectably and respectfully (to show that I take this seriously) helps, as does an unassuming attitude. I’m sure plenty of people walk in with a chip on their shoulders and already swinging their arsenal; I work in public service, too and most people aren’t happy to be in court, either. I was careful to not even disclose I work in the public sector, and I was happy I didn’t even need to throw names of judges and sheriffs around to get special treatment.