Registration for SOAR (Student Orientation, Advising, and Registration) began at 8:15. I set the alarm on my iPod Touch to go off at 6:45, allowing me plenty of time to go back to sleep for half an hour and still have enough time to make myself presentable for my debut to at least a fourth of the new students who would be attending Albion College come Fall. Then, I called a friend and spent a long and glorious time conversing. The conversation was stimulating, but I think it was more the sugar-filled car ride down to Michigan from Minneapolis, the vodka and Gingerale I had with dinner, and the b-vitamin-, caffeine- and guarana-packed beverage I had earlier that prevented me from going to bed until after 3. When I collapsed into bed, I couldn't help but wonder just how presentable an extra half hour of sleep would make me.
The panic-inducing drone of an alarm out of the Cold War nuclear scare broke through my sleep-deprived brain, dragging me from subconsciousness. And I had been having the most pleasant dream. I reached blindly beside me, lit up my iPod and turned off the alarm, checking the time on the top of the too-bright screen: 6:45. Perfect. I returned the device to the nightstand, rolled over, and pulled the covers up closer to my chin for another half hour of sleep.
My phone screamed its jingle from the desk across the room not five minutes later. There was only one person who would be calling me this early: my father, my companion on this trek into my future. What did he want? I couldn't help but groan as I forced myself from the covers.
"Hello?" I said, more than half asleep.
"Are you ready?" inquired my father. "You wanted to leave at 7:45, right?"
"What?"
I'm suddenly very awake as I pivot to face the clock beside the bed. The angry red display answers my question: 7:48. Oh, right, time zone change. My phone and computer made the switch automatically, but my iPod didn't. Oops.
"Actually, I just woke up," I admitted sheepishly, staring at my muddled reflection in the mirror.
"You what?"
I repeated my confession.
"Well, Nora," he proclaimed, slightly exasperated. "Why don't you call me—no, better yet, I'll just meet you downstairs."
"Okay." I hung up, and started shedding clothing as I made my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Thunder suddenly boomed outside. The hotel room went dark. Power failure. Great. Just great.
We made it to Albion College located one town over at 8:24. It took us another five minutes to find a parking space, and a further ten minutes of slogging through pouring rain while huddled beneath the umbrella I thought to pack before we finally broke down and asked someone where we had to be. The woman politely directed us to Kellogg, the student center and the very first building we past.
Kellogg was one of the reasons I chose Albion. It is a gorgeous building with a soothingly darkened interior. Something about the place reminds me of an old library, or even a cathedral. The main hall is lined in silver mail boxes. A lounge with enticing easy chairs, couches and window seats shares the main entrance with the college bookstore which is run by Barnes & Noble—and I'm only budgeting $40/week allowance. Hmm. The calm that the building breathed the first time I was here was drowned by the busy chatter of dozens of students filling out forms, discussing plans with parents, and waiting in line. My father and I split up. I headed to the student registration table to gather my name tag and packet, while my father did the same at the parents' tables. When I finally made it through the throng with my paperwork, my father was no where in sight. Oh well. My stomach was growling, as his probably was, as well. I headed outside and stopped off at the next building over to get my photo taken for the ID card on my way to Baldwin Hall and the dining room.
At 9:30, I limped over to the science building to meet up with my group. An older woman with blond hair and a pleasantly over-weight build was holding up a number 14 in the middle of the hallway. By this time, the flats I had chosen to wear were soaked and doing a grand job of rubbing my heels raw. I politely asked the woman where I might acquire a band-aid and if I had time to retrieve one before the session started: Student Health Services and no, probably not. She suggested that I just take off the shoes. We were on carpet after all, but somehow going barefoot in a hallway full of shod teenagers didn't appeal to me. I resigned myself to walking as though I were wearing heels. I'd get a band-aid after the session.
The first session comprised of an ice breaker where we discovered intriguing things about each other. We were all transfer students, which was nice because most of us were sick of hearing about the First-Year Experience and being in college for four years. The ice breaker was a game of bingo. Each box had a question and you had to find someone other than yourself who answered 'yes' to the question. For example, "Do you own a red car?" or they were simply statements: "Two people who played the same sport in high school." Unfortunately, I kept answering yes to questions without finding anyone else who qualified. Several people left a conversation with me to proclaim 'Bingo!' After we got to know each other a bit, the leader of our group (it turned out to be our advising group) spent the rest of the time talking about what was necessary to graduate. There was more than I expected. Not only did you have to take the classes assigned to your major, but you also had to fulfill certain Modes and Categories. Modes could be filled by classes we had taken previously and were transferring over, but Categories could not be. Also, Albion College graded classes with numerical grades and there weren't credits, but units. You could take no more than 4.5 units each semester unless you received special permission, and you needed a total of 32 units to graduate. Finally, we were each given our transcripts and the audit that explained which classes transferred. The packet also included a summary of what Modes our transfer classes had fulfilled. Mine had covered two of the three. Not ideal, but it wouldn't be hard to fulfill the three remaining Modes in four semesters. Or so I hoped. Most of my classes had transferred, as well. I already had 15 of the 32 units I needed!
I was released from the session early and made my way back to the dining hall for lunch. I was one of the first ones there and didn't have to wait long to get food. Few of the tables had been claimed, and I collapsed into a two person booth beside a planter filled with ignorable green things. They could've been hot pink, though, for all I noticed. My mind was filled with class possibilities. Okay, I had a 4.5 class limit each semester; I didn't want to do Summer school; I wanted to be done in two years; and I didn't want to take classes on Fridays. I'm hoping to make the Equestrian team and shows also happen on the weekends with travel or even shows on Fridays. After I had devoured my plate of soy- and dairy-laden food, I bussed my dishes and fetched the abridged class catalog from my messenger bag. By this time, my father had joined me, and as I tried to work out a class schedule, he ate and asked me questions I couldn't answer. I tried to keep the annoyance out of my responses, and I failed.
The next session was quiet. All of us spent the time trying to work out a schedule of classes that worked. The group leader gave us a full class catalog that included how many seats were still available for each class. I soon came to realize that my restrictions and the college's restrictions were incompatible. At most, I could take 18 classes under the college restrictions. I added up the units I needed from the two majors and one minor I wanted to accomplish: English = 9 units, Philosophy = 8 units, and a minor in History = 5 units: 22 units. Something would have to give. The only woman adviser in the group told me to give up on my Friday restrictions. After all, I was here to learn, not to compete. I found I didn't completely agree. Yes, I was at school to attain a degree, but I chose Albion because of its Equestrian Team. It's true, I may not make the team, but from the sound of it, basically everyone makes it. I felt the beginning bristles of disappointment lacing my mood. Finally, I came up with a schedule that I could live with. There were two history classes, an English Literature, and a Philosophy. I had arranged things so that I would have only one class on Fridays and it would be done before noon. It would work.
I left the room in search of my father once again. He wasn't hard to find, which was lucky because the atrium of the science center where we ran into each other was full of people. He asked me how the class selection went and if I had learned anything more. I gave a brief summary about how things had gone as I made my way to the cookie table in the center of the room. Unfortunately, his conclusion was that two majors and a minor was for crazy people. Drop the minor. When I continued to struggle with working out a class schedule, I had to admit that he was probably right, though I loathed giving up on part of my goal, but 17 classes was attainable, 22 was, well, crazy. I trekked back to the next session with a heavier heart. Reality had begun to sink in.
The first thing I did when I returned to the geology room where my group had been meeting was grab the attention of one of the advisers. I told him my goal: graduate in two years with a double major. He helped me put together a class schedule that comprised of two philosophy classes and two English classes. He left me staring at it. The disappointment in my chest tightened its hold. I had been so excited, so thrilled when I signed up for classes at Century College. There had been a piece of paper listing all the classes that fell under each category. It told you exactly how many classes you had to take in order to graduate with an Associate in Arts degree. It had been easy. It had been fun. I had spent months before hand planning which classes I would take each semester. This experience was nothing like that. This was frustrating. This was disappointing. I felt like I was lost. I would ask the advisers questions and they'd be unable to answer them: do any of my transfer classes count toward my majors or minor? Which ones? Is my goal possible?
It was time to register. We filed into a computer room and logged in after spending a noisy half hour sitting in a lecture hall being told how to register, how to check our financial aid, and other important college-related items. Because I was a transfer student, I got to be with the first group who registered. At the last moment, I changed my schedule. I may have to give up on the history minor in theory, but that didn't mean I couldn't take a history class. I snuck one of the earlier ones in, replacing one of the philosophy classes. I vowed to e-mail the history, English, and philosophy departments to find out if any of the several classes I took at Century qualified toward my degrees. Maybe I didn't have to give up on my plan just yet.
In the end, my schedule looks something like this:
HIST Modern Latin America: MWF 9:10-10
PHIL Ethics & Public Policy: TTh 10:10-11
ENGL British Literature I: MTWF 2:10-3
ENGL English Seminar: Faulkner: TTh 3:10-5
SOAR at Albion College didn't really soar for me. At Century, we were given a tour of the campus. At Albion, we were forced to scrabble from building to building. At Century, I felt ready and confident when I chose my classes. At Albion, I was left with a feeling of dread. It's possible that my biggest problem is that I'm comparing Albion to Century. Century was a community college. It was smaller, simpler. I wasn't choosing classes for a major, I was choosing for a two year degree. Yet, I don't think that's all there is to it. I'm not feeling any doubts or regrets about my choice. I do like Albion. It's a beautiful school. The people are great, even if they aren't great advisers. I have a feeling that next semester I'll have an easier time of choosing classes, because I'll know what to expect and I'll be able to talk to someone who can actually answer my questions ahead of time. This first semester is my trial run. It's my chance to get to know the campus, the college, and the curriculum. I have no idea what to expect right now, and as I rested my head on my pillow and gazed out the window of my little Saturn coupe daydreams (and the side effects of too much dairy, probably) threatening to transform the scenery into another reality, I realized that discarding the need for expectations was probably okay. After all, I would be starting a new chapter of my life come Fall, and new chapters are always more interesting if you leave expectations behind.
