Last Friday I chose my classes for next semester. It was a bittersweet moment for me. I realized how quickly time flies. Eight semesters, eight times having to choose my courses.
I was reminiscing about the first time I chose classes. It was a month and a half before college started. I felt like a fish out of water––surrounded by other wide-eyed incoming freshmen.
The day before we chose our classes, we met in smaller groups, probably like twelve to fifteen people, and had one faculty member with us. Our’s was an English professor who talked to us about the different programs for Freshmen only.
I tried my best to take in as much information as possible, but to no avail. The following morning I still felt so worried. I didn’t think I was going to get any of the classes that I wanted.
The setting didn’t lessen any anxiety either. The administration used the Bapst Library (it’s very cool and reminds everyone of Hogwarts) for student’s course registration.
It’s one large open room and columns that separated the main area from the edges. The outskirts were spaced out by dark wood bookcases. In the main area, huge shiny, brown wooden tables were ran along both sides, giving enough space in the middle so students didn’t trample one another.
When I walked in for my time slot, I was ball of nerves. The only things going through my head was everything that could go wrong (it didn’t, well not too much).
Everything happened so fast and before I knew it, a lady thrusted my printed schedule into my hand and sent me on my way.
Now I know all the secrets to choosing classes––like how your slot actually opens up seven minutes before your assigned time.
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