Cherry Hill residents are protesting the construction of a proposed “Super Wawa” on Haddonfield Road. This is not okay. They’re concerned that the 24-hours-a-day, seven-days-a-week business will swarm their town with traffic, noise, light pollution and other irritants that will lower their quality of life.
Um, excuse me, but you’d be living next door to a Wawa. You should be fantasizing about swimming in a bath of green tea and eating a Shorti for every meal instead of bitching about traffic.
A man opposing the new Wawa asked, “Would you want it next to you? Tell the truth, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, would you want it next to you?”
One woman was quoted as saying, “My personal number one concern is the noise factor and the fact that in my children’s bedrooms upstairs you can hear everything.” Wait, you’re concerned that your children will be negatively affected by living next to a Wawa? You’ve got to be kidding me. I grew up in a house that has eight Wawas within seven miles of it—including one less than a mile away. My only regret is that I had but one Wawa a mile from my home.
People, Wawa is a delicacy. It’s sacred and special and deserves our exponential praise and adulation.
It may not seem that way because, if you live in Pennsylvania or New Jersey, you’re rarely further than a a mile or two away from the nearest location. I know it’s difficult, but imagine living in a place with zero Wawas—no late-night hoagies, delicious breakfast sandwiches, or made-to-order smoothies with your gas station. No, instead you’d have to go one place for gas and another place for a good sandwich and a third for decent coffee. That’s what life is like for the rest of the country. Not only do most places not have Wawa, but there are still large regions of the country in which the Wawa business model doesn’t even exist. That means that if you want a late-night snack on a Tuesday, well, you’re just shit out of luck, pal.
I sent a text message to a number of friends who are from the area, but have been displaced by their careers. I asked, “What would you do to have a Wawa where you live?”
Friend in L.A.: “I’d trade Venice Beach, In-N-Out Burger, and 10 degrees in winter for Wawa.”
Friend in Colorado: “The shorter list would be, ‘What wouldn’t I do for a Wawa in Denver?'”
Friend in North Carolina: “Damn. What wouldn’t I do? Competitive gas prices and fresh hoagies … Hell, I can’t get a hoagie [anywhere] down here.”
Friend in L.A.: “I’d turn down sex with two of the three Kardashian sisters.”
This is the type of brand loyalty we’re talking about. People are willing to sell their souls for a good hoagie. Hell, a friend of my brother’s even went and permanently marred himself out of love for Wawa.
The people of Cherry Hill should realize that there are worse things in life than living near a Super Wawa. Cars aren’t going to be lined up around the block to get to the pump at 3 a.m. More likely, it’ll just be the occasional patron looking to gas-up, grab some coffee, or satisfy a late-night craving. If people are going to complain about that, then every sentence out of their mouths should be punctuated with a “#firstworldproblems.”
Stop worrying about potential honking and increased light pollution and revel in the fact that you’ll never be more than steps away from a delicious Oven-Roasted Turkey Classic and Diet Lemonade Tea. Patronizing Wawa is a privilege—it is not an unalienable right. If they can’t get on board with being that close to one of the greatest creations our region has ever had the pleasure of experiencing, then maybe they don’t deserve to have a Wawa.
Friend from L.A.: “Any assholes crying about a Super Wawa don’t know how good they have it.”