Below is the timeline of events, as they happened in real time, without any dramatic embellishment or creative story telling:

May 13th, 2015: Wegmans Brooklyn is announced; anticipation for glorious Wegmans subs begins. Sandwich lovers in the NY metropolitan area rejoice. Cheers are heard in the streets. Tears of joy flow like buffalo sauce over a Chicken Tender sub (large).

May 14th, 2015 to October 26th, 2019: One thousand six hundred and twenty-eight days have passed since the announcement heralding Wegmans first NYC location. Hunger for fresh deli-style subs is at an all time high.

October 27th, 2019: The day is here - it's the grand opening!! There's fanfare, pomp and even some circumstance!! Wegmaniacs are minutes away from reuniting with their beloved Meatball Parms (medium). The doors open; a frenzied crowd rushes in. There's a prepared food station to the right, mere feet from the entrance. It's the perfect location for dishing out Traditional Turkeys and Portabella Mushroom Cutlets (meatless option). But something strange is overhead. The Sub Shop sign is spelled all wrong; the letters are all jumbled. Instead of a playful script it says in big block letters...Authentic Italian Pizza???

The people are confused. Panic sets in. A manager is sought out to shed light on what can only be described as an opening-day prank gone horribly wrong. The manager, a delightful young man from Rochester (side-note: all Wegmans employees are delightful, a testament to Wegmans strong employee-driven culture) explains something about regional...food...preferences and pre-made subs that can be found in the the cold prepared case. His lips move, but his words fall on deaf ears. All that can be heard is the faint din of a freshly made Wegmans Assorted sub (medium) being cut somewhere outside Syracuse or Binghamton or Buffalo - places with untold Wegmans sub riches. Tears of sadness flow like signature oil over the traditional sesame seeded roll of a Danny's Favorite sub (large).

But through the dense fog of sub-less depression, the manager shines a fluttering light of hope. He tells the people that Wegmans is always listening to their customers; though the decision was made to include a pizza bar in lieu of a sub shop (this, despite the fact that NYC has literally hundreds of fantastic pizzerias), Wegmans corporate continually re-evaluates their product decisions and with enough feedback, there could even be a sub shop in place by January 2020. The people leave the store dejected, heads hung low, but with a glimmer of hope for a sub-filled future.

As they return their empty shopping carts in the parking lot, a soft tune begins to play; slowly at first, but growing steadily louder until it drowns out the grumbles of empty sub-less stomachs. It's familiar. It's Les Misérables! Schönberg's famous score swells and booms through the parking lot. The people break out in spontaneous song, their voices pointed north, towards the cavernous halls of Wegmans corporate offices in Rochester:

"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of Wegmans subs. They are the sandwich of the people who will eat them once again. When the eating of your sub, echos the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when the sub shop comes."

The will of the people is the only thing that will ignite the sandwich revolution that we, the people, so desperately deserve. With enough signatures, Wegmans will right this injustice and our futures will once again be filled with Parms, Tenders, and Grilled Lemon Garlic Chicken Breast subs (medium).