Picture this: you’re seated at a circular table with five other students. You’ve got a red bandana around your head that screams Christopher Walken in “The Deer Hunter.” You’re playing a game of Russian roulette. The first person goes — she’s safe. Then the next person — safe. Now add this: one of the people in the circle loaded in one more bullet against everyone’s wishes. Why did they do this? Not only are they putting everyone in the circle in twice the amount of danger, but also themselves. Well, does it change anything if I tell you the bullet came from a safe at one of the hottest parties on campus? It doesn’t? Oh well, too bad. It’s your turn to go, anyway. I won’t spoil the ending. 

Returning to campus is not unlike a game of Russian roulette. Sure, young adults are statistically less likely to die from the coronavirus, but that doesn’t mean they don’t. And it certainly doesn’t mean the virus doesn't expose young adults to potentially life-threatening future illnesses, or allow young people to spread the virus to more vulnerable demographics. 

Don’t get me wrong; I would love to return to campus. “Zoom University” is definitely not doing me any favors. However, the risks associated with COVID-19 signify that a return to campus in any capacity this spring is a bad idea, no matter how tired I am of struggling to make eye contact with my Zoom crush. 

If the administration does try to send us back in some capacity after spring break, I could see this going a few different ways. They could have us sign liability waivers, which is basically the equivalent of our university treating us like visitors to a Chuck E. Cheese. It would go something like, “We have no responsibility if something happens to you, but we guarantee one of these kids is sick.” They could also do a “Hotel California” policy that would go something like,  “Once you check in, you can’t leave.” However, this would involve Chapman figuring out a way to bar all students from leaving the state, which seems unlikely. Or, they could institute and enforce a no-party campus. But like the knight and his plague-ridden companions dancing the Danse Macabre at the end of “The Seventh Seal,” Chapman students have proved unwilling to do that. 

Of course, there’s always the light at the end of the tunnel, the golden MacGuffin, the bulletproof messiah: the vaccine. President Joe Biden says that all adults in the U.S. could theoretically be vaccinated by July, which is great. Except with different variants of the virus popping up all over the world, the battle against COVID-19 could go from search and destroy to a nonstop losing game of whack-a-mole. 

But a return to campus is going to take more than a magic bulletproof vest. For better or worse, COVID-19 has slit open Chapman’s underbelly, and another virus ravaging campus has slipped out, oozing to the floor, meaty and raw: entitlement. The past few weeks, social media has been abuzz with videos of Chapman parties. I’d be remiss to say I wasn’t surprised (remember these fraternity parties come at the heels of the one year anniversary of the infamous former student Dayton Kingery’s “I’m worth $50 million dollars” incident). To truly heal from the wounds COVID-19 has gashed on our campus, we must learn to take responsibility for our actions, actively step outside our central vision to understand the gravity of our behavior and its effect on others. Until Chapman students decide that the thrill of cocking the gun isn’t worth the price of the shrapnel, sometimes it’s better to just not play the game at all.