I grew up in Philadelphia and although I live only 75 miles west of there now, still in the same state, people here do not use the same words I do.
I’ll give you that my pronunciation of water (“wooder”) and crayons (“crowns”) are atrocious, but I stubbornly go to the Shore every year while my husband insists we go to the beach. (The beach is AT the shore, OMG. There are other things to do.)
Also, I call certain kinds of sandwiches hoagies. I’ve almost lost friends over my stubborn refusal to call these kinds of sandwiches subs. A sub, I argue, is someone not good enough to start a game or a person filling in for the regular teacher or a person who may like sex a little rough. If you are eating the sandwich while ON a submarine and ideally it was made on the vessel, I will grudgingly accept that you can call it a sub sandwich.
I can’t think of any other exceptions. Don’t talk to me about Subway.
Here is the most Philadelphian song and video I have ever seen, except maybe G. Love’s I-76. To my knowledge, there are no hymns dedicated to sub sandwiches or the stores that sell them.
I present to you, Wawa’s Hoagies.