As Chef from South Park once said, “There’s a time and place for everything, children, and it’s called college.” For many, this sentiment rings true. I was a bit of an outsider in high school—too quirky for the popular crowd and not geeky enough for the true nerds. I often blended into the background, even while donning tight jeans and leg warmers. But college? That was a vibrant six-year escapade.
The late ’80s and early ’90s became a cavalcade of experiences where I wandered through various majors, enjoying the journey rather than racing toward an uncertain future. College life meant living in a shared apartment filled with an ever-changing cast of roommates. It was fueled by caffeine, ramen, late-night pizza, and the cheapest beer we could find. I’d pull all-nighters writing papers while sipping peppermint schnapps, lugging laundry home just once a month, and enjoying the comforts of home—like Mom’s coffee—when I crashed in my childhood room. My late-night conversations revolved around everything from politics and religion to the latest drama from Melrose Place and the antics of a particularly obnoxious classmate. I even attempted to learn German, only to find that all I could recall 15 years later was how to say “idiot.” And who could forget that unforgettable night when a drunken friend in a trench coat, sans pants, knocked on my door at midnight?
My love for college eventually led me to a career in higher education, which sometimes makes me feel younger but more often has me reaching for hair dye to cover those pesky gray strands. However, as technology advances, the landscape of college life has changed drastically. Many experiences that shaped my college years are now unrecognizable to today’s students. When I reminisce, the work-study students in my office look at me like I’m an ancient pioneer sharing tales of life on the prairie.
Here are some quintessential aspects of my college experience that have become largely obsolete:
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The Registration Rush
The excitement buzzed around campus when the new semester’s schedule was released. We’d rush to the Registrar’s Office, grabbing stacks of printed schedules. We’d then gather under a tree or in a coffee shop, flipping through the newsprint while discussing our options. Afterward, we’d meet with quirky faculty advisors—one who quoted Hunter S. Thompson and another with a “Beowulf” license plate—who would glance at our planned schedules and remind us of any missing requirements. The day of registration was a sacred ritual. The earlier your credits, the sooner you could register. I would skip work or drag myself out of bed with a hangover because registration was a priority.
The process unfolded in what we called the Commuter Cafeteria, which reeked of Lysol and tuna. Half the tables were cleared for rows of computers manned by staff with blinking DOS cursors. I would stand in line, people-watching instead of reading the book I had brought. Registration Day was a mixed bag; I loved the anticipation of a new semester, but I detested the long lines.
Today, however, managing registration systems is part of my job. No more lines—students can simply use a mobile-friendly website to sign up for classes from anywhere.
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Public Grade Checks
This one makes me cringe given my current role overseeing academic records. Back in the day, grades took an eternity to arrive by mail, so professors posted them outside their offices. Students would line up and nervously scan the sheets while hoping for good news. Listing student names publicly has become a no-no, so we relied on social security numbers instead. We didn’t think about identity theft; we were just praying for that “A” or “B” next to our number.
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Fighting for the Dorm Phone
My college “dorm” was actually an on-campus apartment I shared with three other girls. We had a communal phone since no one owned cell phones back then. A few friends had pagers, which we thought were the height of coolness. The dorm phone was our only line to the outside world. I remember waiting impatiently for calls from my study buddy who resembled a young Kiefer Sutherland, all while my roommate hogged the phone talking to her mom. The thrill of checking voicemail was intense, especially when that little red light blinked. If only texting had existed back then, I could have sent sad-face emojis instead of fuming over missed calls.
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Resume Paper
I once worked at the career center, where counselors urged us to invest in quality resume paper. I bought a box of off-white parchment and printed 20 copies, battling printer jams along the way. Now, as someone who hires regularly, I haven’t touched a piece of resume paper in years—if it’s not digital, it’s not happening.
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Reconnecting on Social Media
This isn’t strictly a college memory, but it’s something today’s students likely won’t experience. Some friendships from college were meant to last a lifetime, while others faded post-graduation. In 2008, I discovered Facebook and was thrilled to reconnect with old friends. But today’s students are already connected from the start; they don’t experience the same joy of rediscovery that we did.
The list could go on about the unique college experiences that today’s youth will never encounter. While I can’t guarantee they aren’t making friends who buy them beer or pulling all-nighters fueled by ramen, many of the rituals we cherished have vanished. I don’t miss the long lines, the anxiety of voicemail checks, or the frustrations of printing resumes one bit.
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Summary
College was a unique experience filled with activities that have largely vanished today, such as waiting in long registration lines and checking grades posted in public. As technology has evolved, so have the routines of college life. While students today may still navigate friendships and late-night study sessions, many nostalgic rituals from previous decades have disappeared for good.