The Home of Tax Free Asskicking

As most of you already know, I recently switched jobs, which has brought me into the environs of Trenton, a charming town whose gold-domed city hall, looming, brutalist ’60s era concrete housing projects, giant statue of George Washington and numerous abandoned factories give the skyline a Moscow-on-theDelaware look.

Yes, Trenton is so cool, it has “environs” instead of suburbs.

The statue of George Washington is especially cool because of the posing. A bronze George stands atop a 150-foot pillar, his right arm outsretched and hand bent foppishly downward as if to say “girlfriend, please!” to our great country.

Last week, I had an appointment in City Hall and found myself driving around downtown Trenton in the shadow of these lovely buildings, looking for a quick bite to eat; maybe a Hessian takeout restaurant or a Borscht stand.

Howver, the first fast-food place I came across was a Pantry 1. The architectural cues gave the small conveneince store away as a former Wawa. I have seen small Wawas become Pantry 1s before, and it is a sad event that indicates the decline of our civilization. Pantry One :: Wawa as Bartertown :: Sydney.

I used to work at Wawa, and while it was no Zagat-rated restaurant, Wawas are definitely the best convenience store out there. Thanks to underpaid 16-year-old peons like I used to be, the places are generally clean, and you can get a decent sandwich there and whatever salty and/or caffeinated side dishes to go along with it. The coffee isn’t bad either.

Sadly, part of Wawa’s grand strategy seems to be switching from small convenience stores to Sam’s Club-sized Megawawas Of The Future. The upside is they are building new, larger Wawas with cheap gas, but the downside is that the old small ones all seem to become Pantry 1s.

Judging by my experience last week, here is what Pantry 1 does when they take over a Wawa:

- Spread black gunk all over the place. I don’t know how so much soot can get into a modern building without the aid of coal-burning furnaces, but somehow the engineers at Pantry 1 have devised a way to spread industral revolution-like quantities of what appears to be coal dust all over their establishments.

-Spray the place with “south Philly subway” scent air fresheners.

-Remove all the name-brand snacks, replace them with inventory from the dollar store.

-Hire unkempt mutants who resemble illustrations from a Warhammer 40k rulebook.

Still, for some reason, I decided I needed an Italian hoagie and just couldn’t wait to find a non-hellhole eatery. Approaching the deli, I noticed that the hobgoblin making the sandwiches was wearing a “stop snitchin’” t-shirt. In addition to that catchphrase, it said “gangsta rules in effect” and had a one-point perspective picture of a handgun pointing at you.

Also, Pantry 1’s don’t accept credit cards. I had to pay for my hoagie by extracting cash from a coal dust-covered ATM in the back of the store that probably sent my credit card number directly to the Greek mafia.

In conclusion, everything that is bad about America can be found within a Pantry 1. See you in hell, Pantry 1!