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“College Students Pay More and Get Less,” the newspaper headlines scream. I have discovered just how true this statement is. 

Back in January my friend Corrie and I applied to the Masters of Fine Arts program at San Francisco State University. 

The first indication that things might not go smoothly was when we were notified that our undergraduate transcripts had not arrived with our applications. We panicked. We had each paid to have the transcripts sent directly to the registrar’s office. It’s been 30 years since I attended college and I was worried that proof I had once been a student no longer existed. 

But when I called my alma mater I was assured that the transcripts had been sent. I called San Francisco State University and after going in circles a few times on the telephone tree I was told that “…your transcript is probably here somewhere. We’ll look around and if you don’t hear from us in a week or two then everything is okay.” 

No, I thought, everything is not okay. This is not what I expected to hear from the graduate school’s dean’s office. Corrie got a similar response.  

They must have found our transcripts because we didn’t hear from them again until we were accepted. More confusion set in. We received a long e-mail letter from the president of SFSU telling us that tuition fees had been raised. 

Then we got a packet of information in the mail with a list of classes and details on program requirements. It wasn’t clear that the course requirements and the classes available matched up but we thought we’d find out more when we attended graduate school orientation.  

Orientation took place last week in a room too small for the number of new graduate students. 

I had naively thought the registrar’s office would know how many people they had accepted and therefore provide enough chairs. A 30-page handbook was distributed, but there weren’t enough copies to go around. 

Those of us without a handbook were told we could download it from the Internet on our home computers or buy a copy at the bookstore for $3. Maybe, I thought, the current gubernatorial recall does have merit.  

Without a chair or the hand-outs, it was hard to follow the accompanying slide show. But since most of the information dealt with how to graduate on time, something I won’t be doing for at least three years, it seemed that I could worry about graduation later. After all, classes haven’t even started yet. 

We headed to the campus bookstore to buy our required textbooks but the cash register line was too long and we decided to go back another time. 

Then we went to the Student Services building to get our identification cards. That line was even longer. 

We hiked back to Corrie’s car which was parked many miles away. I hadn’t expected there to be enough parking spaces and there weren’t.  

“Jeez,” said Corrie as we barreled down 19th Avenue. “I thought they’d at least provide us with food at orientation, not to mention a seat and a handbook.”  

I looked over at Corrie and noticed for the first time what she was wearing. I had dressed for fog but Corrie was attired in real coed garb—sandals, a tank top with skinny bra straps showing underneath, and bell bottom pants that dragged on the ground. Her very flat belly was exposed where her shirt bottom and pant tops were supposed to meet.  

I looked down at my own Hush Puppy-like shoes. I had on pants that could only be described as “floods” and my button-down cardigan sweater suddenly appeared rather matronly. 

For the first time I had to wonder about what I had gotten myself into. Forget budget cuts, long lines, and missing handbooks. What I need to get through graduate school isn’t necessarily the right classes or a chair, but a smooth stomach and a better looking wardrobe.