Few people understand the painful separation that I’ve gone through over the past couple of years. The late night sadness and incomplete feeling, the painful mornings when I wake and know that what I so desperately crave is no longer just a couple minute drive away. I’ve found below average replacements, but nothing satisfies truly like you do, Wawa, and I’m sure many people who have moved out of your range of deliciousness have gone through WWW (Wawa Withdrawal) also.

College students who go to school where Sheetz exists instead of Wawa (and yes, Wawa IS better than Sheetz), or people forced to move away from your beloved locations...well, you feel my pain. I try to explain Wawa to people who have never been (they don't get it). But how do you explain what Wawa is without making it sound like just another sketchy gas station that offers “food?” So here’s my best try.

Wawa is an upscale convenient store—a paradise among food markets—that offers a plentiful array of food ranging from milkshakes to quesadillas, from doughnuts to mac and cheese, from warm cookies to hoagies. And for those of you who don’t know what a hoagie is, it’s the correct word for a “sub.”

Wawa is a place for quickie-food lovers, for truck drivers tired of subpar sandwiches and shitty coffee, for moms and dads on Friday nights who don’t feel like making dinner for their kids, for the high schoolers who want to grab something in between class and practices, for the late-nighters craving ice cream and, my personal favorite meal combo, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, and chicken tenders (yes, this all comes in one container and it's genius).

Most roadside eateries and fast food places run a high risk of giving you indigestion or stomach aches, but not Wawa. I can safely say that I’ve never experienced a bad side effect from eating at Wawa, and I’ve also never waited more than 10 minutes for my food.

But Wawa is more than a rest stop, a gas station, a food market. Wawa is a sign that I’m coming home. It’s an indicator of familiarity, of comfort. It means that people will understand what I mean when I say the word "hoagie".

I was driving home from New York to the suburbs of Philadelphia. I had to stop to get gas and for a bite to eat, so when I saw a sign for food at the next exit, I got off. At first, I saw a McDonald’s and a Wendy’s in the distance, and I audibly groaned. But then I looked, saw a Wawa to my right, and made a very questionable turn.

Wawa means I’m that much closer to Philadelphia, where it all started. The first Wawa was opened in Folsom, PA, a small town outside of Philly. But now Wawa has spread from Pennsylvania to New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and Florida. Unfortunately, it has not come to New York (Wawa Gods, if you’re listening, please drop a few stores up here).

Thank you, Wawa, for staying open 24 hours, for providing grease-less food and good prices, for carrying everything that we could possibly want (besides guacamole as a sandwich topping—can we talk about that? I still love you though). Thanks for caring, for doing it better than anyone else, and for providing a place where I’ve always had good experiences and eaten good food. Your bright red sign is a beacon of hope.

Everyone who has fallen in love with their local Wawa knows what I’m talking about—and everyone who doesn’t know what Wawa is probably thinks I’m crazy. But you never truly appreciate something until you’ve lost it—and honestly, right now, I could really go for a classic turkey and cheese hoagie, the Wawa way.

Happy Hoagiefest to all, and to all a goodnight.