The Drive

Dear Members of the Board,

It has come to my attention that the Malibu Senior Center, which the Board rents from the Malibu City Council for the conduct of elections, was swallowed by the Pacific Ocean this past weekend. I write, to the best of my ability, to shed light on the sequence of events that preceded it. I do so as a volunteer, which is to say without standing, authority, or a key to the building, though in light of recent developments the last of these is no longer a point of contention.

I regret to inform you that, as a direct consequence of the Council’s prohibition against volunteers using the coffee machine, or the coffee, at the Malibu Senior Center, I was obliged to drive my combustion-engine automobile to Starbucks in order to obtain a cup of coffee.

I wish to emphasize the gravity of this development.

I would further note that the kitchen contains a coffee maker, which I have used without incident for three election cycles. It has never once required a parking space, a drive-through lane, or a barista named Tristan. The Council’s notice, taped to the refrigerator, cited “liability.” The coffee maker has no history of liability. It has a history of coffee. I raise this only so that the Board may appreciate what has been lost, and because, as a volunteer, I am rarely asked.

I note that the Board did not issue the prohibition. The Board is a tenant. I mention this because tenants, in my experience, are the last to be consulted and the first to be blamed.

Having been denied access to the kitchen, I proceeded to the parking lot, entered my vehicle, and initiated the combustion process. Gasoline was consumed. Carbon dioxide was released into the atmosphere. The vehicle, I should mention, is a 1998 model and does not so much emit carbon dioxide as announce it. I then traveled to a commercial establishment whose purpose, among other things, is to sell beverages to persons who have been unable to obtain them elsewhere.

The coffee, once obtained, cost seven dollars and forty cents. The Center’s coffee is complimentary and, by general agreement, no worse. I have attached the receipt as Exhibit A. I do not expect reimbursement. I am told volunteers are compensated in “the satisfaction of service,” a currency Tristan declined to accept.

I should also point out that the seven dollars and forty cents does not include the time spent driving to Starbucks, locating a parking space, waiting behind a man ordering something called a Brown Sugar Oatmilk Shaken Espresso, or explaining why I had been required to purchase coffee when coffee was already available. I have not charged for these items. I mention them only because the Council has demonstrated a keen interest in liability, and I would hate for it to be said that I failed to document mine.

It was at this point that I began to appreciate the full environmental implications of the Council’s decision.

The additional carbon dioxide contributed, in its infinitesimal fashion, to the warming of the atmosphere, which contributed to the warming of the Pacific Ocean, which may have contributed to the conditions associated with a Super El Niño, which may have generated a Kelvin wave, which may have altered the distribution of warm water along the equator, which may have influenced the weather patterns responsible for the movement of a single grain of sand on the Malibu coast.

I will not pretend to follow the Kelvin wave in detail. I am a volunteer, not an oceanographer; the sign-in sheet lists me under “Other.” But I have read the pamphlet, and I see no reason to doubt it.

That grain of sand, having been displaced, may have ceased to provide the precise degree of support required by the adjacent grains. The adjacent grains were not close, but they had been counting on it. They had made certain assumptions about its continued presence and had told no one, which is how most structural failures begin. The beach lost a fraction of its integrity, and the next wave, sensing this, came a fraction of an inch farther inland. The erosion undermined a bluff. The bluff, which had stood for ten thousand years without incident, was reassessed. A plywood building lost its foundations, and with them its standing, a condition I recognize.

The building, I should add, was the Senior Center, recently described in a Council assessment as “a community asset.” It has since become a marine asset.

The Center descended the bluff in stages at roughly the speed of a man carrying a couch, which is to say with great dignity and no brakes.

The kitchen went first. I am told it was the one room in the building that remained unfailingly in order. The coffee urn, which I was not permitted to touch, was left running to the last, and was the final thing in the building to go under, still brewing. The voting booths followed, in a manner I can only describe as orderly. The ballot box floated.

On the way down, the Center clipped a hot tub. The hot tub released four hundred gallons into a storm drain, which backed up into the sprinkler system of an adjacent yoga studio, which was hosting a wedding that afternoon. The sprinklers activated during a 6 a.m. class. Forty people evacuated in downward dog and leaned, as one, against a utility pole. The pole, having been leaned upon by forty people in downward dog, leaned back.

I note that forty people were afforded an emergency evacuation, while one volunteer engaged in election work was denied access to a coffee maker. I do not suggest that the two situations are equivalent. I merely note that the yoga participants had better facilities throughout.

It leaned into a transformer. The transformer produced a sound like a dropped piano. The sound startled a pelican, which released a mackerel it had been holding since Tuesday. The mackerel may have landed on the release lever of a wedding caterer’s truck, which began to roll. No one was injured, though several were centered.

The Council then discovered that the ocean had repossessed a property it owned outright, and that the insurance company regarded this development as an act of God rather than an act of the Malibu City Council.

I have reviewed the policy. It does not mention the Council’s coffee policy. It does not mention the Board of Elections, which holds its lease “as is.” I would not be surprised if a future revision mentioned both, particularly once the Council learns where the truck went.

The truck crossed the parking lot, which is to say my parking lot, and went over the edge after the Center, which the bluff, for its part, had been reconsidering for some time.

As a consequence of these events, I was unable to complete a number of duties normally associated with my position. The voting machines were scattered across the lower bluff, two of them having come to rest upside down in a stand of ice plant. The electronic poll books were last seen floating approximately two hundred yards offshore, their screens intermittently illuminated beneath the surface. One stylus was carried inland by a seagull. The seagull has not voted. The voting stickers were found adhering to the backs of several pelicans, although I cannot confirm whether they had been issued to them or acquired independently.

I was not issued an inventory of the Center’s contents, and so cannot say what is missing, only that all of it is. The auditorium piano was last seen floating beyond the breakers, playing a note B that several residents reported hearing from the beach.

The mah-jongg tiles have not been located, although several have reportedly been mistaken for shellfish. The bingo cage was found lodged in a eucalyptus tree, its numbered balls continuing to dispense at irregular intervals. No one has claimed a prize. The community noticeboard was discovered face down on the beach, still displaying last month’s announcement of a lecture on coastal erosion. Attendance, I am told, was strong.

The Board has asked me to confirm that the ballot box was sealed. It was. It is now seaworthy. The seal read “tamper-evident.” The Pacific has tampered. The evidence is considerable.

No one has asked me whether the coffee urn was switched off. I consider this an oversight. It is a fifty-cup commercial unit with no timer, and the notice taped to the refrigerator made clear that it belonged to the Council. I was not permitted to touch it. I was not permitted to look at it for longer than was strictly necessary. Responsibility for its final condition therefore rests with the Council, and I would be grateful to see that stated in the minutes.

I would not wish to speculate on whether the urn is still running. I note only that it was last seen heading west at a depth of some forty feet, that its element draws eleven hundred watts, and that the Pacific, which I understand is a poor insulator, is now considerably warmer. I make no claim of causation. I have learned from the Council how that is done.

Should the urn prove to be running, I assume the Council will wish to account for the emissions. I suggest it begin with the grain of sand.

I do not claim that the Board is responsible for this catastrophe. The Board merely rented the building. I merely wish to establish the sequence of events. I would not wish to overstate the Council’s role. The grain of sand, after all, also had a choice. The grain of sand did not know about the election.

Scientists have yet to establish a link between the denial of coffee and the temperature of the Pacific, and I would not wish to be the first. The sequence, however, is undeniable. I was barred from using the coffee machine. I drove my combustion-engine automobile. The gasoline burned. The atmosphere warmed. The Pacific responded. The grain of sand moved. The bluff gave way. The Center went into the sea. The hot tub followed, then the yoga class, figuratively. The pelican has been questioned. The truck has no comment. The ballot box floated.

And now we must all live with the consequences.

I understand that the Council may consider the matter moot, given the present condition of the premises. I respectfully disagree. The premises are gone. The policy remains. I see no reason why one should be allowed to survive the other.

I remain a volunteer, unpaid, and will be in the parking lot, which is now also the beach, should the Council wish to reconsider, or the Board wish to forward this.

Respectfully,

The Volunteer

(Formerly “Other”)