Late one night last semester, I was lounging around with my buddy, Chip, watching “Booty Call” for the 11th time in as many days. I’m not ashamed to admit it either — I cry every single time. Jamie Foxx just tugs at the heartstrings in his most passionate role ever, the lovable Bunz. Some people thought “Titanic” was emotional, but it’s a far cry from “Booty Call.” I have to admit, Leonardo DiCaprio chokes me up a little, too, but in a fashion more similar to chicken bones or larynx cancer.

Anyway, when it was all over and I had fully composed myself, Chip and I realized that we hadn’t eaten in nearly 72 hours, and we were as hungry as very hungry dogs. Food Service workers were roasting live animals over an open fire out behind Linden Hall, but dysentery was running rampant, and people were pointing fingers. Instead, I harkened back to one of my most ambitious hobbies, which is eating delicious Subway sandwiches.

As we strolled into the Welch Avenue Subway, we were delighted to see that the sandwich artist on duty was none other than our Messiah, Jesus Christ. We told Him that we were big fans, but Jesus just reacted as if we had quoted Him a few figures from the Dow Jones. We would come to find out that He was nowhere near as friendly as we expected our lord and savior to be.

It all began when we tried to place our order. Your typical Subway employee is trained to act in a courteous manner and be nice to you, even if you stumble in at 2 a.m., falling-down drunk and try to order something off the wallpaper. Jesus apparently thought it would be more effective to just stare at us with an angry expression on His face. We didn’t hold it against Him, though — He had, after all, died a horrible death on the cross for our sins. We just quietly ordered a pair of Cold Cut Combos and moved to the end of the counter.

Christ paid no attention to our order and set to work on some unholy conglomeration of bread, meat and decorative paper. He then skipped the entire topping area and moved straight to the spices, where He asked us if we wanted pepper in an angry voice that suggested He might have to draw it straight from His own chest cavity.

We cautiously replied that yes, in fact, we did want pepper. That’s when Jesus got surly. He spun around and stomped back to the counter where He retrieved what was apparently the last pepper on Earth. After sprinkling a little on our sandwiches, obviously put out by our request, He threw the pepper shaker across the room and bagged up our meal. Chip decided it would be appropriate to make some crack about loaves, fishes and a seafood sub, but Christ was not amused. He threatened us with the mayonnaise spatula but was quickly disarmed by another courteous employee. I’ve met my fair share of religious icons, and I have to say, Jesus was certainly the rudest, which may explain His popularity.

My buddy, a braver man than I, decided to ask our savior why He was so testy this evening. I thought to myself that I would be a little huffy, too, if mankind had decided to reject me for the better part of 2,000 years, but I kept it to myself. Jesus obviously wasn’t in the mood to deliver a parable and just glared at Chip in a fashion reminiscent of the exploding-head scene in the David Cronenberg thriller “Scanners.”

Well, to make a long story short, Jesus had been about as pleasant as a good bullwhipping, and Chip was fed up. He grabbed Christ by the lapels and threw Him, hammer-style, into the soft drink dispenser. Now, old Chipper isn’t a little fella. He weighs in at about 240 after taxes, and he gave Jesus quite a toss. You can imagine my surprise when the Messiah bounced to His feet and whaled on Chip like he was tenderizing meat. I didn’t wait around for the post-game report.

Sure, I was still hungry when I left Subway. Sure, I had to eventually settle for a whole, live grizzly bear. Sure, I didn’t even get any Sub stamps out of the incident. And sure, Chip will never eat solid foods again. But all-in-all, it was an evening I’ll never forget.

I bet I know what you’re thinking: You’re thinking the guy working at Subway that night was just some punk with a long, brown beard and some nail-holes. In fact, you’re probably right. Shortly after the incident, it was discovered that Jesus Christ was, in all likelihood, never employed by the Welch Avenue Subway restaurant. According to my research, He has never worked for any of the three major sub franchises in the United States (though he’s been spotted on a few occasions at the Country Kitchen). Whoever it was that worked the night shift at Subway that fateful evening, he made quite an impact on my life. And Chip’s jaw.

Ron DeMarse is a sophomore in LAS. Josh Flickinger is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication.