Middle Tennessee State University - Midlander Yearbook (Murfreesboro, TN)

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' 7,9vM C.V v ' A-V ' ' 3 A typical day on the MTSU campus might go this way. If you ' re a commuter, your day could begin as early as 5:00 a.m. If you live on campus, you could conceivably postpone arising until 7 : 45 or later, that is, if you don ' t eat any morning meal. If you don ' t eat breakfast, you ' re missing more than the food (However great a blessing that might be). You ' re missing the comjMnionship, the frivolity, and the general early-morning weirdness of the people, the Grill, the SUB, Woodmore, or High-Rise West. These people, totally thunderstruck at the prospect of another day in classes, make an attempt at joviality and happiness over their coffee and doughnuts, ham and eggs, sausage and biscuits, waffles, or whatever. The chitter-chatter of certain of the undergraduates with the greatest awakening prowess, and the modulated tones of whatever announcer happens to be tuned in on the radio system mingle in a soothing backwash of quiet activity, and you ' re just considering going to sleep in one of the booths when you look at your watch, and zing, it ' s 7:58.

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. . . and Socializing and Classes . . .

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. . . and We Almost Have a Year. If you ' re lucky, when this rude awakening comes, your first class will be in the NCB; if not, you may wind up wind-sprinting to the gym or the Drawing Building or the Student Union or whatever. There you are offered MTSU ' s own version of Education, getting your little slice along with everyone else. Between classes (no one anywhere likes to think much about classes) you will probably be found back in the University Center. Your home-away-from-home— the UC. Wandering through the basement where the bookstore and post office lie, checking your post office box for the second out of four times that day (Nobody ever writes you and you even have to pick up junk mail off the floor, it ' s THAT BAD), you begin to socialize among the slices of humanity around you. The girl with stringy hair and something grey on her hands is either in art or scenery painting. The guy with close-cropped hair and a wide grin, hanging around with several other boys of his height and build, doesn ' t have a uniform on, but it doesn ' t matter— he ' s a Pershing Rifleman. Or he might be a Physical Education major. Finally you spot some friends. They ' re going into the bookstore but you catch them inside. The group of you decide to visit the Grill. It doesn ' t matter whether you ' re hungry or not— often the dispensing of food seems to be secondary to the social functions that take place in the Grill. If it ' s late enough in the afternoon, you ' ll have to hack your way past commuters waiting for their rides home and taking up most of the available booths. Once inside, you and some other friends decide you want something to eat— but the line ' s so long, you ' ll wait and go in a minute. Besides, you don ' t want to have to struggle trying to hold a Raiderburger together. H