While this happened at school, I'm not sure it's technically a "college experience." But it's a pretty good story so I'll dish anyway.
Fall 1996, my senior year at Carolina. The parking permit I had only worked in a small lot outside my dorm and a strip of parallel spaces across the street. I drove an 80s-model Chevy Caprice wagon as shown below, but without the special effects:
Needless to say it was hard to parallel park. But on the evening of September 5th, there were no spaces in the small lot so I had to try. The alternative was to park in another lot and wake up early to move it to my lot, but unless I went out at 6am or before there was no assurance I'd find a spot then, either.
Against all odds, somehow I managed to wedge the hoopdy into the parallel space without wrecking anyone else's car. (I did scrape mine a little bit on the rock wall next to the road, but I wasn't too worried about that.) I went inside my dorm to do homework.
There had been a hurricane off the coast the week before that never made landfall, but the rain associated with it had saturated the ground. That night, another hurricane was projected to hit our coast but it was not as strong as the one that had just missed us so I didn't think too much about it. As it happened, it passed right over us, but we never lost power and there were fratboys out in the quad playing football in the midst of it, so I figured it couldn't be that bad. I enjoyed the storm and went to sleep, assuming there would be class the next day as usual.
When I woke up, people were walking around outside, but nobody was carrying a backpack or looked like they were headed anywhere in particular. They were looking at the debris. I stuck my head out the window and asked if class had been canceled, and it had. I decided to go out and check things out myself. Trees were down everywhere, and all the traffic lights were out- evidently we had a generator or something, because power was out everywhere else besides campus.
Eventually my walk took me around the side of the dorm where the parking lot was. I noticed that a tree had fallen across the street where the parallel spaces were. Only one car was smashed beyond recognition. I was glad it wasn't mine. But as I got nearer, I realized I couldn't actually find mine- I didn't remember exactly which space it was in, but I assumed I'd be able to recognize it. Well, when I walked around the back of the smashed car, it turned out to be less damaged than the front. I saw some of my crap in the back, and my Police Benevolent sticker. The smashed car was my car- a huge ancient old oak tree had just tipped right over on it.
FEMA was giving out grants, which I could have gotten, except the car was still in my dad's name. D'oh! So he had to get a low-interest loan instead of a grant, and I paid him monthly for a "new" (old) car. My smashed station wagon made the front page of the newspaper, at least.