One Class, One Catalog, One Friend -- so Far so Good

Instead of tackling my math classes this semester, I was able to kick the can down the road a little further and wound up enrolling in a three-credit English class. Try as I might, I couldn't find an open Psychology course, which is what I wanted to take because that's my major and I still have a few Psych courses I can satisfy while still conveniently avoiding the math. But, because I was late registering, the classes filled up, and even though I begged two instructors to let me in, it was a no-go. So, with all Psych classes either full, or having those pesky math prerequisites, I remembered that I have a minor, too, which is English. While meeting with my advisor a week or so earlier, she pointed out that I still had a fair number of credits to fulfill in that area. So, again, I opened my University of Wisconsin undergraduate course catalog, the printed one, and re-started my search from scratch.
The printed catalog, by the way, seems to be a rare species these days on campus. Thirty or so years ago, you could find stacks of course catalogs prior to every new semester everywhere you turned in the student union. So that's where I headed the day I was to meet my advisor, to grab a catalog and get a jump start on what classes were offered this semester, etc. But when I entered the student union, which has been enlarged and remodeled now and, oddly, extended completely across what used to be main commons walkway area, virtually slicing it in half and completely ruining it, I found none. Not one. The new student union, with its large, suspended flat-screen T.V.'s, and eerily clean, was virtually devoid of so much as a shred of paper. I walked over to the Information area where two student employees sat.
"Do you know where I could get a copy of the catalog where they list all the classes?" I asked.
They both looked at me blankly -- as if I'd just asked them where I might find a signed, original copy of the Declaration of Independence.
Student advising might have them, one of them offered, with a thoughtful look.
"Everything's pretty much done online now," the other one said, but not in a tone that implied he thought I looked old or anything. But the word "now" at the end of his sentence was not completely lost on me.
Lucky for me, I just happened to be heading to the advising department. When I got there, I asked the same question of another young student employee at another desk.
"Ummmmm, let's see," he said, opening drawers, closing them, opening cabinets, closing them.
He finally found one crumpled copy that he said he could loan me if I sat at a nearby table and promised to give it back.
"Your advisor will probably have some extras," he said.
After I flipped through it for a while, I gave it back and went to my advising appointment. The first thing my advisor, a professor who appeared to be in her early thirties, did was hold up a course catalog, identical to the one I'd just surrendered downstairs, and ask, "Do you have one of these?"
Finally, I was going to get a catalog of my own.
"I'm sorry, I don't have an extra one to give you -- they're hard to find," she said. "They probably have some at he registrar's office." She admitted that she prefers the printed copy to having to slog through all the class choices online.
I was relieved to learn it wasn't my age after all that had me practically obsessed with getting my hands on an old fashioned printed catalog.
After our meeting, I headed over to the Registrar's office, to pay my $100.00 enrollment fee and pick up a catalog. The check ultimately bounced and wound up costing me $74.00 in overdraft fees, but that's another story. Except to say that not much has changed in that regard in 30 years.
"We don't have any here, but they should have some over at the student union, upstairs," yet another student at yet another desk at the Registrar's office said.
I walked back over to the student union, took the elevator upstairs, walked down a long curved hallway, and finally reached the office where I was to inquire for a fifth time about the possibility of obtaining a copy of the coveted printed 2010 - 2012 University of Wisconsin-Whitewater course catalog.
More desks, more kids. One of them cheerfully reached into a cabinet and handed over a spanking new copy which I will cherish and not let out of my sight until 2013, when it expires.
And that is where I found the Creative Writing class that I am now enrolled in, which I attended for the first time last night after missing the first class last week due to enrolling late.
Not exactly getting off to a flying start, but I already made friends with a classmate who filled me in on what I missed last week. As I was walking down the steps after class I heard someone say, "Excuse me, ma'am, I didn't catch your name. I'˜m Chad."
It was the kid I'd talked to in class about the previous week's assignments. We walked to the parking lot and chatted along the way just like two perfectly normal students.
"If you ever need any help, let me know," he said, before heading off.
I'm pretty sure he meant as in help with the class, and not as in crossing the street.
What the hell, I'll take either one at this point.