Lucy’s Journal – April 29, 2026
This morning started like most others—with a questionable idea and way too much confidence.
“Let’s go ride that little train thing,” I said.
“The what?” asked Peanut, flicking his tail like he already knew it was going to be a problem.
“The PRT,” I said. “People ride it all over Morgantown. How hard can it be?”
That was mistake number one.
We made our way to the Med Center Station, which looked simple enough—just some doors, a few machines, and people walking around like they knew exactly what they were doing.
We did not.
The ticket machine was the first obstacle. It had buttons. Too many buttons.
Kiwi hopped up onto the edge of it and started pecking at the screen like he was ordering lunch.
“You just bought something,” I told him.
“Good,” he chirped. “I hope it’s snacks.”
Peanut squinted at the instructions. “Why does it say ‘Select Destination’? Isn’t the destination ‘ride the thing’?”
“No,” I said, already losing patience. “We want Walnut Station downtown.”
The machine beeped angrily.
“That didn’t sound like success,” Peanut observed.
Meanwhile, the Quackers had formed a separate committee about halfway across the lobby.
“We vote Beechurst!” one of them declared.
“Why Beechurst?” I asked.
“Chicks,” they all said in unison.
I should have known.
“You are not getting off early to ‘check out chicks,’” I said.
“That sounds like discrimination,” one of them muttered.
Back at the gate, we discovered the next problem: you have to scan something to get through.
Kiwi tried to walk straight through the turnstile and got gently bonked back.
Peanut watched this happen and said, “Good system.”
I waved the ticket (or whatever Kiwi had purchased) in front of the scanner. Nothing.
I flipped it over. Still nothing.
One of the Quackers tried to go under the gate.
Another tried to go over it.
A third just sat down and refused to participate.
Finally, a nice human came over and said, “You have to scan it like this.”
We all pretended we knew that already.
Once inside, we faced the ultimate question:
“Which platform do we go to?” Peanut asked.
“There are only two,” I said confidently.
“Yes,” he replied, “and we are somehow still confused.”
The sign said something about directions that made perfect sense to everyone except us.
Kiwi suggested we just get on the next one that showed up.
“That’s how you end up somewhere weird,” Peanut said.
“Adventure,” Kiwi countered.
A car finally arrived, and chaos took over.
The doors opened.
The Quackers rushed forward like it was a bread sale.
“Beechurst! Beechurst!” they chanted.
“No! Walnut!” I yelled.
In the confusion, one Quacker tried to argue with the automated voice.
Another asked a passing student, “Are there chicks at Walnut?”
The student did not respond.
We made it onto the car—miraculously—and the doors closed before anyone could escape at Beechurst.
The Quackers pressed their beaks against the window dramatically as we passed it.
“Goodbye, opportunities,” one of them whispered.
The ride itself was… actually pretty nice.
Smooth. Quiet. Efficient.
Peanut relaxed immediately. “Okay,” he said, “this part I like.”
Kiwi ran back and forth inspecting everything like he was in charge of safety.
“Solid vehicle,” he declared.
When we finally arrived at Walnut Station, we stepped off like seasoned professionals.
“See?” I said. “We figured it out.”
Peanut looked at me. “It took us 45 minutes to get through a gate.”
“That’s part of the journey,” I said.
Behind us, one of the Quackers asked, “So how do we get back to Beechurst?”
I pretended not to hear.
Conclusion:
The PRT is a fine system.
We are not a fine system.
But we made it to Walnut—and honestly, that feels like a win.
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