The college nightmare

It's now been 32 years since I graduated from the University of Montana. I was 17 when I began college and I was 20 when I graduated. The three years of college were filled with adventure. I lived on campus my freshman year and off campus the other two years. I also attended a couple of summers, where I also lived in a dorm.

My mom and dad with me for graduation at the University of Montana

There was quite a bit of difference between summer classes and the rest of the year. The big difference was that were always a number of teachers in my summer classes and it wasn't very hard to do better than the teachers who had returned to campus for continuing education classes. I don't mean to demean the teachers...but I was attending college year-round and had gotten this study thing down to a science. Teachers were only part-time students and, frankly, I'm not sure their hearts were into it. It's hard to believe now, but the teachers actually dressed worse and looked worse than the full-time students.

All in all, college life was a fairly pleasant experience. Sure, I had the obnoxious professor who thought it was beneath him to be teaching. There was also the foreign professor whom you couldn't understand. And the very liberal professors who would have been better teaching out East than in Missoula, Montana, but I digress.

If there was a downside to college, it was that I was always broke. I had part-time jobs, such as working as an umpire for softball games or at Eddy's Bakery when I was a junior, but I was still broke. I remember writing my senior paper while eating Salted Nut Rolls and drinking Mountain Dew. Going out for a drink meant going somewhere where the pitchers of beer cost a dollar. Hopefully, the popcorn was free.

But  I seemed to take all of this in stride because all of my college friends were also broke. I guess misery loves company. Anyway, being poor didn't seem to be too big of a hardship.

But now that I'm older, I seem to have a recurring nightmare about college. It doesn't have to do with snooty professors, part-time jobs or what I was eating...it has to do with not showing up for classes because I somehow always manage to forget my class schedule.

Like most nightmares, there isn't really a lot of rhyme or reason. In fact, sometimes it seems I'm still in high school because there seems to be a central locker where I'm going to load and unload my books. There were no lockers at college. A backpack or a briefcase, yes, but no locker.

But the real nightmare starts when I begin to hunt and search for my different classrooms. Now I do remember this being somewhat of a chore because my classes were often in different buildings and the buildings could be located north and south, east and west on campus. That meant for a lot of walking. What made it more difficult was there were 8,000 other students also trying to traverse the campus at the same time as me.

Still, when I went to college, this didn't seem like such a difficult chore and I rarely missed a class. I wasn't sick very much and I generally liked my classes...which is why I took them.

But in my nightmare, I always seem to forget where my classes are...because I haven't gone in a couple of weeks. And to make matters worse, I forget the combination to my locker. What I've been doing instead is always a mystery, but it hasn't been school work. Perhaps I go on a two-week bender...who knows.

Now I don't know how many times I've had that particular nightmare, but it seems to pop up a couple times a year. And it always ends bad because I have to take a test for a class that I haven't attended nor have I read the book or completed the assignments. Hopefully, I wake up before I get my final grade because it isn't going to be good.

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting with brother-in-law Rich Graves who graduated from Eastern Montana College about 10 years before I graduated. We were talking about nightmares and both of us shared this one about college. It was almost word for word. Both of us agreed that while in college, we attended our classes. But in our nightmares, we don't go for some odd reason until we can't even remember where the classes are.

So I'm writing today not to relive this nightmare one more time, but I'm wondering if others share this same frightening experience. Maybe it's not about college, maybe it's about high school. But somehow, there is always that final humiliation because I've not studied, I've not read the material and I haven't heard the lectures. Boy, talk about taking a test with your eyes closed.

Again, my college was nothing like this. I enjoyed college. I really did. But I don't enjoy this recurring nightmare.

Memories of the Babe Waitress

Once upon a time, the boys were little and Belinda was a stay-at-home mom. She watched a little girl – Allison Haider – who was as close to a sister as my boys ever had. But alas, when Scott went to first grade, Belinda wanted to quit her day care business and get a job where she would actually have conversations with adults. So she went to work at our church as a part-time secretary…the same job she has today.

About that same time, she was invited to join the Prairie Rose Lions Club. Again, she wanted to interact with adults. I belonged to the North Star Lions Club and wouldn’t you know it, the two clubs met once a month on the same night. Well, it didn’t make any sense for us to get a babysitter so we could attend our separate Lions Clubs meetings and, frankly, I was getting enough adult interaction at my job at MDU, so I quit my Lions Club so Belinda could join hers.

This created the perfect situation for me and the boys to have one night out a month by ourselves, which became known as “Boys Night Out.”

As was customary, Derek, Scott and I always went to the same restaurant, month after month….Red Lobster. And the stories are legendary.

For instance, there’s the time that Derek bet me a dollar that he could eat the “Ultimate Feast” by himself. I’m guessing he was about 10 years old at the time. Anyway, I took the bet thinking that this was a no-lose proposition for me. Not only would I get a dollar from him when I won the bet, but I would also get to eat the rest of his shrimp, lobster and crab when he was full.

Much to my chagrin, Derek ate every bite of his meal. So not only did I owe him a dollar but I also had to pay for his meal…which was about $15 at the time.

Our drink of choice in those days was rootbeer. Normally if you need a refill at Red Lobster, the servers are johnny-on-the-spot with another glass of pop. However, when you order root beer, it comes in a brown glass bottle, and when one bottle is gone, you have to order another. So the first time this happened, we were surprised at how fast our bill grew because we were sucking down the bottles of rootbeer like people crossing a desert and eating salty potato chips at the same time.

But the funniest story that ever occurred involved a young, bouncy blonde whom we referred to as the “Babe Waitress.” The boys and I thought we had died and gone to heaven just to eat at Red Lobster but to also get the Babe Waitress was really an extraordinary event.

At the time, it seemed the Babe Waitress only served tables way in the back of the restaurant so if we got seated at a table in the back, our pulse would race thinking that our chances had improved that we would get the Babe Waitress. Even if she didn’t wait on our table, at least we got to stare at her for an hour while we ate our meal.

Anyway, the stars aligned this one Thursday night. Belinda went to her Lions meeting. Derek, Scott and I were seated in the back of the restaurant and we had the Babe Waitress…and probably three rootbeers sitting in front of us. Just as we were about to order, our bubble was popped and we slowly floated back down to earth.

Belinda’s Lions Club had canceled its meeting and Belinda had walked into the Red Lobster to eat dinner with her family. I think Derek was the first person to spot mom walking toward our table.

He gave me a look that resembled the face of a worried safe cracker who has just seen the cops enter the bank.

Just as the Babe Waitress was approaching our table to take our order, Belinda sat down with us. Suddenly the three bachelors out for a good time sipping on rootbeers turned into a married husband, a wife and two little sons of their mother.

Somehow the atmosphere had changed. Now Belinda is not one to spend our money foolishly, so I think the boys’ meal selection changed from the Ultimate Feast to popcorn shrimp.

Still, it was one of those unforgettable memories that still gets talked about today when we are eating at Red Lobster. By the way, what ever happened to the Babe Waitress?