It was my first day at the University of Minnesota. In elementary school, we had only one classroom to go to for the whole year, and had just one teacher. Then came junior high and high school, where each subject was taught in a different room with a different teacher, but we were all still in just one building with a relatively small student population. There was probably some form of registration for classes in high school, but I don’t remember it, so it must have been painless and uncomplicated. By comparison, the University of Minnesota was a huge, sprawling campus with probably around 50,000 students the year I was a freshman there. The registration process had to be done ahead of time and was fraught with confusion and frustration. But somehow I had made it through this gauntlet and the great day had come. I had entered into the great halls of learning and had even found the building for my first class, English Composition. I sank into my chair with a sigh of relief.
The teacher asked for our registration cards, which we dutifully handed in. She looked them over and remarked that one of them didn’t have a name on it, so she asked us which one of us had turned in a card without a name. Silence. She sighed and said, “Well, I guess I’m going to have to read out the name on each card to find out which one of your names is missing.” She began reading out the names and the guy sitting next to me looked at me, rolled his eyes and said with scorn, “Freshmen!” I laughed, as if in agreement, but was acutely aware that I was one of those reviled beings. The parade of names continued and I began to wonder if it was possible that mine was the card in question. Weren’t our names already printed on the card? I hadn’t looked at mine very carefully. The names went on and mine still wasn’t called. I was filled with a sudden dread. It was mine, it had to be mine. She finished. I raised my hand to claim the card. All eyes were on me, particularly that guy next to me, who rolled his eyes again and smirked. That was how I found out that we were expected to put our names on our registration cards. That was how my college career began with a moment of public mortification.
Me: I think I’m supposed to delete this in the morning.
Readers: *eye roll* *smirk*
Lynniebeemuseoday 