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You know in the finale of most TV series, when the main character moves out of the house he or she has lived in for a long time and gazes longingly at each empty room and reminisces about the unforgettable moments that occurred there as the piano solo slowly fades out? That’s me right now. With graduation mercifully approaching, I decided to give our university one last nostalgic go-around … by tagging along with the UCLA campus tour.

I blended right in with the eight prospective students on the tour, especially since I was wearing my John A. Rowland High School P.E. T-shirt. One last lap around the track: I was ready.

So was our over-caffeinated tour guide, Eric, a third-year political science student who seemed way too giddy about attending this school. Eric did, however, beef up my trivia knowledge, offering tidbits such as the largest lecture hall, Moore 100, holds 474 students, geology is the smallest major, Young Research Library contains 3.5 million books, Royce Hall features 54 architectural imperfections and the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden was voted the No. 1 place to kiss in the nation by Playboy Magazine.

“Where have I been?” I asked myself.

Not in class, apparently. As the group strolled through one South Campus hall after another, I took my own stroll down memory lane and realized that I’ve had some general education classes in these buildings – I just either slept through them or didn’t show up much, if at all. (This would become a recurring theme throughout the tour.)

I wish I could say my graduation signals the end of an era, but it’s more like the end of an error. In fact, many errors.

I do cherish whatever fond memories I have of these South Campus labyrinths, like the time I missed a crucial office hour because I failed to locate the netherworld that is Slichter Hall, which is tucked behind and between Young Hall and the Geology Building. Then there was the time I exited the Biomedical Library, took a wrong turn and found myself trapped inside one of the UCLA Medical Center buildings. I was busting through doors and storming down staircases like the Fugitive. I finally escaped through a back alley full of steam pipes. That was a week ago.

As we traversed through Murphy Hall, Eric the tour guide conveniently took time to explain how Murphy offers fast, friendly service and advice, solving all our academic and financial problems and lighting the way for students in need of guidance and counseling – a godsend, the answer to all our prayers.

I tried to hide my smug laugh. This Eric fella – he’s a funny guy.

Murphy is more bureaucratic hell of Hades than Oracle at Westwood. Academic enthusiasm gets buried under mounds of paperwork. Murphy is where school spirit and good intentions go to die.

On a relatively happier note, as the group walked down Charles E. Young Dr. East, along the grassy knolls of Dickson Plaza, I was reminded of the countless times I set the land speed record while sprinting across the plaza to turn in a paper that was due within a minute. Those were the days. My roommate and I would motor down Hilgard Avenue in his 1985 Mercedes 300D Turbo Diesel, and I’d jump out of his deathmobile with paper in hand and run like the Fugitive. (I detect a disturbing pattern here.)

I’m definitely going to miss Bunche, Haines and Rolfe Halls, especially their staircases. That’s where I worked out my quads climbing upstairs to hand in papers. Then I’d exit the building with a sly smile on my face, panting like a dog but beaming like I just pulled off the crime of the century. There’s no feeling in the world like the exhilaration of turning in a paper at the very last possible minute. It’s like cheating death.

But I digress.

The group’s next stop was the sculpture garden, which looked much more trippy the last time I was there.

Then it was on to Powell Library – I’m drawing a blank on memories of that particular building.

Our tour concluded at Ackerman Student Union, where Eric reemphasized that students will never go hungry with the abundant eateries on campus.

Never go hungry? Stop, Eric, you’re killing me.

E-mail Chang at dchang@media.ucla.edu.