I don’t know what I was expecting to find at that Center City Wawa just about half past twelve. Besides cheap hoagies, of course. And a sixty-four-ounce Turkey Hill peach tea. I dunno, maybe I’d try to steal a bag of Lay’s Salt & Vinegar as well.
But what I didn’t expect was you. What can I say? It was like freakin’ fireworks, you know?
There we stood at the deli counter. Two star-crossed meat lovers, with nothing to look forward to but our number being called and a Septa bus ride to nowhere. We made eyes at each other and giggled as we both tried to get double capicola ham without paying for it. I smiled as you threatened to stab a guy for wearing a Cowboys hat.
For some, Wawa’s Hoagiefest is just a marketing ploy offering cheap sandwiches at participating locations for four weeks in July.
But if you ask me, there’s something about Hoagiefest that is magical. It’s so much more than just food. It’s the faint smell of mayo in the air. The sloshing of eight or so lagers in your gut. Those warm summer nights where a drag of an unfiltered Pall Mall fills every fiber of your being with hope and tar.
We had fallen in love over discounted deli meats and a barely enforced “no shoes, no service” policy. But it’s time to face reality. Wawa had put the last Hoagiefest sandwich out of reach, and so, I’m putting the last of my feelings for you away too.
We both knew this would never last. We found love in an impossible place. Specifically, behind the dumpster where we made out a little and did some over-the-pants stuff.
You think I planned on you? On this? On both sweet and hot peppers on a ten-inch Italian?? Or you think you’re the first person in Philadelphia to fall in love during a sandwich sale?
Look, I’m sorry. It’s just… I think… after Hoagiefest ends, we go back to our regular lives. I think we’re just… two people who met because of a six-dollar sandwich. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s all we were meant to be.
And who knows, there’s always next summer. Or maybe we’ll meet again in November, when Wawa starts offering the Gobbler again?
And hey, if it’s truly meant to be, then this isn’t really goodbye. Perhaps years from now, in some faraway Delco Wawa, you’ll spot me throwing up outside in a plastic bag. And it’ll be fireworks all over again.
But no matter what happens, we’ll always have Hoagiefest.
And hey, just a heads up: You got some honey mustard dripping off your chin.