As Chef from South Park aptly put it, “There’s a time and place for everything, children, and it’s called college.” This sentiment resonates deeply with me. In high school, I was a bit of an outlier—not quite fitting in with the popular crowd, yet not fully merging with the more academic types either. I often faded into the background, sporting my skin-tight jeans and oversized sweaters. However, college was a transformative experience. Those late ’80s and early ’90s years blurred together in a haze of exploration and self-discovery. I dabbled in various majors, letting my path unfold rather than rushing toward a predetermined goal.
College life meant sharing an apartment with a rotating cast of roommates, subsisting on a diet of coffee, ramen, pizza, and cheap beer. I recall the thrill of writing papers at 3 a.m. while sipping peppermint schnapps and the nostalgia of dragging my laundry home once a month, crashing in my childhood bedroom until Mom’s coffee coaxed me back to life. Late-night conversations ranged from politics and religion to dissecting the latest episode of our favorite shows and the antics of classmates. I studied German, only to find that years later, all I could recall was “dummy.” And who could forget the unforgettable moments, like the time a drunken friend in a trench coat and no pants knocked on my door at midnight?
My love for college ultimately led me to a career in higher education, which sometimes keeps me feeling youthful, though it also reminds me to dye those pesky gray strands more frequently than I’d like. However, as technology and society have evolved, so has the college experience, making many of my cherished memories seem almost foreign to today’s students. When I share these stories, the work-study students in my office look at me as if I’m recounting tales from the prairie, where we could only bathe once a week.
Here are a few unforgettable aspects of my college life that are now largely relics of the past:
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Registration Lines
Back in the day, the buzz would spread that the new semester’s schedule was out. We’d rush to the Registrar’s Office, rifling through piles of printed schedules. I’d grab extras for friends, often earning a disapproving glare from the front desk staff. We’d gather under a tree or in a coffee shop, poring over options with ink-stained fingers. After consulting with quirky faculty advisors—one with nicotine-stained fingers who quoted Hunter S. Thompson, and another with a bushy beard and a “Beowulf” license plate—I’d prepare for registration day. The more credits you had, the earlier your registration slot. I’d skip work or battle through a hangover because registration was non-negotiable.
The registration process took place in the Commuter Cafeteria, which smelled of Lysol and tuna. While standing in those long lines, I’d indulge in some serious people-watching, dreading the thought of missing out on courses because of a slow-moving line. Ironically, part of my current role involves managing registration systems—there are no lines now. Students can easily search for classes and register from their phones or laptops. -
Hallway Grade Checks
This is one memory that makes me cringe now, given my understanding of privacy laws. Back then, professors would post grades outside their doors, leading students to huddle together, anxiously awaiting their turns to see how they fared. Instead of names, social security numbers were often used, a practice that seems reckless today. We were just eager to see an “A” or “B” next to our number. -
The Race for the Dorm Phone
My “dorm” was actually an on-campus apartment shared with three girls, and we had the dreaded communal phone. No one owned a cell phone—only a few had pagers, which were considered high-tech. That shared phone was our only lifeline to the outside world. I remember the agony of waiting for a call while a roommate hogged the line, leading to moments where I truly understood the appeal of wine. The thrill of checking voicemail was palpable, especially if it was from someone special. If texting had existed, I would’ve been sending sad-face emojis instead! -
Resume Paper
While working at the career center, I often heard counselors stress the importance of high-quality resume paper. When my time came, I invested in a box of pristine parchment and printed out my resumes, battling printer jams and typos along the way. Nowadays, if you can’t send your resume electronically, it’s largely irrelevant. Resume paper is now as extinct as the dinosaurs. -
Reconnecting on Facebook
Though not strictly a college memory, it’s an experience today’s students will likely never have. Many of my college friendships faded post-graduation, only to be rekindled years later through Facebook. I still remember the exhilaration of receiving friend requests from old pals, leading to rekindled connections—or, in some cases, a quick exchange before silence fell again. Today’s students, however, don’t get that thrill; they’re already connected through various social media platforms from the start.
The list of experiences unique to my college years could go on indefinitely. While I can’t promise today’s students aren’t making friends who will buy them beer or pulling all-nighters fueled by ramen, I can confidently say that some traditional aspects of college life are now relics of the past. I don’t miss the long lines or the anxiety of checking voicemail, and I’m grateful for the progress that has transformed the college experience for better or worse.
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In summary, while the essence of college remains, the experiences have undeniably shifted. We may not miss some of the old challenges, but nostalgia has its place in shaping who we are today.
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