One of my college roommates was in his 8th full-time undergrad year at his 3rd mainstream university. He was on track to graduate in year 11 if he kept working along the degree path he was then on.
When I graduated in my year 4, he was in his year 10 actively scheming on how to change majors in the least productive manner possible, ideally with a transfer to another school thereby sloughing off a bunch of credits along the way.
This was in California where the UC system runs on quarters and the rest of the private and Cal-State college system is on semesters. You could easily lose 20% of your credits transitioning between systems in either direction. Which he did each time. Sheer genius. And this was in the days of cheap tuition, 2% student loans with indefinite deferrals until graduation while inflation was 4+%/year. Food and lodging was by far the most expensive part of attending university.
His goal was to simply avoid joining what he called “real life”. He was good at getting Bs with little work. It was the ideal job for him: barely 30 hours a week of face time, some light reading, and no boss on his ass. All while being surrounded by 18-22yo girls. That wasn’t his prime objective, but it was a nice fringe bennie. He hadn’t yet aged out to the creepy-old-man stage; mostly the women seemed to look at him as older and a bit more mature than the run-of-mill sophomore drunk man-child.
Eventually his parents cut off the gravy train. Last I saw him was 3 years after my graduation. He was then a student at the local junior college, living in a student ghetto apartment nearby, and operating on student loans and a part time job at the college. He had just turned 31.