Transfer students struggle down yellow-and-blue brick road

Monday, April 15, 1996

Red tape hassle leaves new Bruin singing, ‘If I only had a reg
card’By Eric Stump

I am writing to express the hardships one endures as an
undergraduate transfer student at UCLA. This is the first I’ve told
anyone that I am a transfer student, and my social status has
probably been tainted by my doing so.

After years of hoping to someday become a Bruin, my first few
months of school here were wracked with accounting mistakes and
financial aid mishaps. I was plagued for longer than usual with
that gruesome "transfer student" question: NOW am I finally a part
of UCLA?

As winter quarter began, I finally came to grips with this
question. Yes, I really was here. Shy, I had spoken to no more than
two people in my first four months, but that didn’t stop me from
seeing my place in the big scheme. Late in the quarter, though, an
incident occurred that tested my solace.

Imagine my excitement when I got my hands on a student ticket to
the basketball game at Pauley on the last Thursday of the regular
season. Now I would celebrate Bruin victory as a student, and be
there in person! This is a big deal to a guy raised among the
mediocrity of the San Gabriel Valley.

As I approached the door to go into the game that night, I
noticed the sign said students had to show ID and a current
registration card. My world faded to black. I was panicked.
Somewhere deep within the bowels of Murphy Hall, my reg card had
failed to reach me this quarter. I had been there so many times
over the previous months to correct more serious mistakes that I
had decided to cut my losses and abandon a search for the card.

Now, I was in trouble. Did I live my entire life waiting for
this day, only to be stopped at the door? The rather diligent
elderly gentleman at Gate 10 saw it that way. He was poised to
threaten me with physical harm if I tried to get by him. (Why
couldn’t this efficient creature work in Murphy Hall?)

My self-confidence faltered. My mind filled with ugly thoughts:
Maybe this was a sign! I’m not REALLY a student here. Sure, I’m
enrolled in classes and going through the motions, but I have no
friends, no fun and I can’t even get into the sporting events. My
acceptance letter was surely a mistake! Mom was right. I should
have gone to Fullerton.

Fortunately, my Christian Science roots provided for the usual
ego rejuvenation that follows such self deprecation. I wrote out
some quick affirmations (I DO belong!) and rushed to Gate 15. Could
I possibly have the misfortune to encounter two people in the same
day who take their jobs seriously? Nope! The fatigued doorman saw
greater benefit in letting me by than in hearing me whine.

I was in. I was there when Cameron hit the half-court shot at
the buzzer to win the game and the Pacific 10! I was in the back,
of course, but I was there. The guy at Gate 10 saw me inside, and
the whole night had an edge that I was cheating the system and
could be kicked out at any time.

So, to the guy at Gate 10, I just want to say that I am a
student. I have a reg card now if you want to see it. To the guy at
Gate 15, thanks for not doing your job. To my peers at UCLA, the
young man in class who keeps to himself is just a scared, pathetic,
transfer student. Go easy on him.

Stump is a third-year political science student.