Happy Valentine’s Day! It’s that time of the year again where us jolly Americans pitch headfirst into the Hallmark holiday fever, blowing money on everything and anything from flowers to candy hearts to the therapy that’ll finally fix that hole in your heart!
Love’s in the air this weekend, and hopefully somebody out there finally finds the person of their dreams, because for better or worse, Sunday the 14th is coming for you. Yes, you. Specifically.
But aside from love, do you know what else is in the air?
Ha, just kidding. That’s only in Spurrier Hall — trust me, I work there. I would know.
So, do you know what else is also in the air?
If you want to get technical, of course, you could say “pathogens” or “viral particles” or, if you’re really up for it, “viral contagions of the severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 variety” — but nobody outside of my biology professor really wants to hear that one, so I’ll be sticking to literally anything else.
We’ve all been plagued by this not-plague for long enough, and people are getting desperate. Even I, a lowly contributor for the Campus Times Humor section, find myself dreading the thought of spending another day locked indoors.
Sadly, that’s just how life is right now: Wake up, go to class, eat a few meals, write some humor articles under extreme duress, go to work, pass out. A never-ending cycle of smaller self-sustaining cycles that damn us to a little hell of our own making.
That’s why I’d like to make a proposition.
See, UR has a lot of potential to create a solution to this whole “global pandemic” thing. We’ve got our fair share of brilliant minds, hardworking hands, and overpriced equipment. But beyond that, we have something even more critical to combating COVID-19: theories.
As an avid proponent of both intensive research and half of the conspiracy theories I just googled, I’ve decided to present UR with a new hypothesis: Walking under the clocktower will grant you the gift of COVID-19 antibodies.
Sure, you might miss graduating on time, but as the saying goes, $70,000 a year is the price of immunoglobulin!
Or maybe you’re a skeptic.
Well, if you are, let me put your fears to rest: Even if my handy clocktower trick doesn’t work, all those extra tuition payments will undoubtedly go to some kind of COVID-19 research! So even if you fail at the start, everybody wins at the end — because in true, tacky spirit, we’re all in this together.
(As a side note, I’d also like to clarify that this idea is definitely not a side effect of asbestos limiting the flow of oxygenated blood to my brain. Trust me. My brain is perfectly functioning and full of blood — as it should be! *cough*)