As the world gathers at Bedford and North 7th in anxious anticipation of who they will look to for guidance, both spiritual and corporeal, for the next stage in their lives, it was hard even for outsiders not to cast their glance towards the holy intersection. After months of disappointing black smoke all down the Avenue, one must begin to wonder who will at long last walk through those newly minted doors to serve as a mirror to their diffident audience below? What sort of neighborhood will this be? What sort of world will this be? Will this new icon hold close to the principles of the world into which he emerges or will he cause a schism sending traditionalists to the Driggs exit? Will it be Ronald McDonald? The King himself? or the aptly named Papa John? Only time will tell, but we can surely speculate as to what the future holds for the Williamsburg faithful.

And what if the balcony reveals…

Chipotle – The Avenue’s taco trucks, driven by necessity, join as one and purchase an RV which they park directly in front of the new establishment. Unfortunately their move doesn’t equal more business because from a distance people mistake it for a Hasidic Jew conversion van, steering clear of that side of the street altogether. The good news for the coalition is that no one goes to Chipotle either. Tacos disappear entirely from Bedford and the Waffle trucks move in to seize their opportunity in an audacious coup. This leads, however, to a distinct split in loyalties down the avenue, as some prefer the Flemish waffles and others the French. The Dardenne brothers’ films take over at Indie Screen and Night Hawk with the latter offering waffle indents now instead of nachos. The neighborhood becomes so split in its loyalties that the two sides are no longer are on speaking terms. People switch sides daily and an identity crisis ensues. Everyone’s favorite fact becomes “did you know French fries are actually from Belgium?” —”Oh, you’ve heard that one, huh?”

Buffalo Wild Wings – The bar to TV ratio takes a huge leap forward as all of a sudden people actually start to wear hats of the teams they like. Thousands flock through the doors with a newfound interest in sports, but are then disappointed to find the teams shown in the commercials don’t actually exist in real life. Never a bunch to let pass an ironic opportunity, locals make their own hats and shirts of one of these fake teams and join the Williamsburg Sunday Softball league—a movement is started. Locals begin to change their appearance slowly, Neoprene takes over from head to toe, but it soon becomes clear that watching three screens at once, while it may require good peripheral vision, requires no athleticism whatsoever. Most of the new apparel gets covered in hot sauce rather than sweat. People start regurgitating factoids from the bottom line while waiting on the subway platform and Gameday comes to Williamsburg cementing its status as a college town. Gym memberships increase ten-fold but only because people need to work off all the wings they’re eating. A dangerous cycle is begun turning the entire neighborhood into fitness freaks and calorie counters as reality begins to mesh with a Michelob Ultra commercial. It all unravels however when 3D TVs are introduced that are so realistic you can now get a concussion just from watching football on television.

Sullivan Street Bakery – “Everyone’s Irish on Bedford Avenue!” Names like Joyce, Wilde, Shaw, Beckett and Lewis are creatively weaved into menu items along the avenue in clever puns that no-one gets but laugh at anyway. People get angry and confrontational when any of the aforementioned are called ‘British authors’ and sigh and tell you you need to brush up on your European history. “Continental or British-Isle?” —”Can you separate the two?” —”Oh, yes.” Green and Orange pop up everywhere and Guinness t-shirts make a huge come back, for the first time ever with the post-University demographic. People spend hours attempting to learn to pour the ‘perfect pint’ and scoff at the ‘new-world’ Brooklyn Brewery. The green energy advocates on the avenue are replaced by, or rather become, political activists seeking to raise awareness about British oppression and the importance of maintaining the Irish identity. A Gaelic Football league is planned to start just as soon as someone can get their hands on a set of rules. People pine for the ‘glory days’ when McCarren and McGolrick parks were once thriving centers of Irish civilization not dissimilar to a Greek or Roman forum. A huge St. Patrick’s Day parade is planned before someone actually goes inside the shop and finds a faux Italian-style bakery started in Toronto.

Pret a Manger – A UK influence immediately takes the streets. Tea becomes preferred to coffee overnight forcing Oslo and others to radically re-invent themselves to fall into conformity. ‘Cheers’ is now used as more than just an uncertain e-mail sendoff, and British spelling appears on menus everywhere. People seek to trace their lineage back to Victorian-era England. Dickens replaces Murakami on subway platforms and in cafes everywhere. People list Fawlty Towers as their favourite TV show of all time, but still regularly mispronounce ‘Torquay’. Oxford and Cambridge t-shirts start popping up everywhere, and local pubs and restaurants start buying canned vegetables and stop adding salt to their meals. Farm shares suffer and eventually fold as fresh food is no longer in demand. The c-word is given new life to the joy of many. Bands start singing in British accents and the Bedford L stop is affectionately renamed Paddington Station. The Premier League becomes even more popular as people scramble to decide fan loyalties based on nothing more than the sound of the team name—Queens Park Rangers becomes a favorite—then claim a distant cousin has always ‘supported’ them. Skin whitening booths replace tanning beds and people for once regret not not being more of a nerd in their childhood, but rather their decision to get braces.

Starbucks – As the scaffolding and barriers come down to reveal the great lady of the northwest—”did you know the Starbucks logo was a gift from France?”—MacBook Airs can already be seen glowing through the windows despite the grand opening being still a week away. The Swedes at the coffee shop across the street are too nice to oppose this invasion and say things like, “oh, there’s room for everyone.” —Maybe in Sweden. North Face replaces Carhartt overnight and it’s no longer taboo to talk about things like football and fantasy sports in the streets. People from Manhattan start to make the journey on the L-train, walk the 20 yards to the Starbucks and back again and tell their friends they have to get to Brooklyn more, it’s really up-and-coming. People are spotted wearing College sweatpants and sweatshirts of the schools they actually went to. In a great display of protest and solidarity, some locals flock to the Swedish cafe across the street, which becomes the center of the counter-movement. Swedish pop takes over and everyone argues about who had a Fjallraven backpack first, who deciphered the true identities of The Knife and jj earliest and whose hometown has a lower average temperature. The Meatball shop is easily dismissed by purists. People start to say Larrson is just a cheap Mankell, lament American re-makes, and praise the merits of transparency as everyone is all of a sudden nice to everyone else. BUT, then a New Yorker ’Talk of the Town’ weighs in on the movement and, furious at being typecast, the group takes to the streets and forces Starbucks out of town. The Swedish cafe is thrilled because they were far beyond their capacity as a peaceful, neutral gathering spot, and people are thrilled to be able to go back to glaring at and mistrusting everyone once more.

Le Pain Quotidien – Unable to resist the fancy name which translates to the most basic of substances, locals can’t help themselves and even the waffle vendors are rumored to sneak in from time to time, albeit with their own syrup in a flask. Yet when rumors spill out that the chain is simply a watered-down version of something originally much better and European­—”wait, do you mean America in general?”—locals are forced to disguise themselves for fear of being seen entering or exiting, risking life-long ostracization for more legroom and consistent wifi. The public shaming leads everyone to grow beards, buy the same computer, dress in indistinguishable, nondescript clothes, wear sunglasses indoors and never look anyone in the eye. Conformity becomes the norm as Bedford Ave. descends into a bleak dystopian reality in which all individuality is lost as people’s insecurities are now masked behind a collective veil. Put simply, nothing changes.