A garage in this city is nearly always attached, which changes the ground beneath it more than anything the builder did. The roof keeps the rain off, so the claypan in the middle of the bay holds one moisture the year round while a meter-wide ring around the edge takes everything the lawn sprinklers and the winter storms put into it. Soil that swells and shrinks is being asked to do two different things three feet apart, and an unsheeted slab across that line does the arguing.
Grant Yoshida opened the yard in 2021 with 14 years on crews behind him, and he breaks a small hole through the floor before any figure is written, because a bay tells you nothing from the doorway. What he is reading is how far down the dense band starts, whether polythene was ever laid, and whether the pad was cut or filled when the tract was graded.
The bay is poured on a C-8 concrete classification, liability insurance on every job carried, to the California Residential Code. Nobody can promise you a like-for-like swap is exempt: the state list stops at drives and walks, and of the 44 information bulletins this city publishes, not one is an exemption list. So the address goes up to Building and Safety and the counter answers it. The floor leaves with a written workmanship guarantee against defects in how it was built.