Column: Guest columnist June Meltzer takes the handlebars

It has been a couple of months since my Fopa has written a column. I spotted his Ticonderoga No. 2 pencil lying on his desk, covered in a layer of dust so thick you could plant sunflowers in it, so I decided to write a column for him.

Don't worry about him. He's perfectly healthy. He doesn't even have writer's block. He hasn't written his column because he discovered an old soap opera called “Dark Shadows” streaming on Prime.

The show ran daily for several years, so there must be a couple of thousand episodes. I don't know how long it will take him to finish watching it. I’m betting longer than necessary, since he is too cheap to pay the extra money to watch without commercials.

Over the years, I'm sure you've all seen my face a number of times, most likely with a text bubble saying some joke that my Fopa thought up while failing at modern tech. No Photoshop for Fopa. Instead, he prints out two pictures, cuts the parts out of both, layers them, and then takes another picture of his two modified pictures.

That's right, when he uses "cut and paste," it is with real scissors and real paste. The man is a living artifact from the steam-powered generation.

My last photo Fopa used was me modeling the new Helbing merch, which honestly was long overdue. He was really pushing it on how much he could talk about Shelbyville's beloved modern art piece without making merch for it. Now that I've started high school, I am rather disappointed in the lack of Helbing appreciation that everyone's showing, but that's an issue I can't solve since I don't think any high schooler actually reads this column.

The sad truth about high school is that I'm so busy with all of this "it's not summer anymore, we have to work" stuff that I think the Walmart Cyborgs have spent more time with my Fopa than I have recently. He has informed me that even though he talks about the same things every few weeks, he's never told you all of our Walmartin' adventures.

So I guess that leaves it up to me to fill you in on the adventures of Fopa and June, the Scooter Wranglers.

About every week, he and I pay a visit to Walmart. We blast “O Fortuna” the whole drive there, windows down, while spotting all of our favorite (as my generation would say) unhoused people.

Once at Walmart, we are the Scooter Wranglers. Some Walmarters don't read their Walmart accessibility scooter conditions. If they had so diligently, they'd know that the scooters are not to be left in the parking lot. Now we understand that Walmart is a very busy place, and scooters being left out is a hazard when there's so many people needing to buy their Fig Newtons and Ovaltine.

So my Fopa and I ride the scooters back inside and to their rightful place. If there are any readers who are already doing this honorable scooter-wrangling job, we commend you for your service and request you write in so you can be honorably mentioned in my next article.

I'm sure there'll be a next one. Walmartin' is just the first of my many great stories.

Once we're in Walmart, our duties also extend to choosing the best cart for Walmartin'. Finding the cart that rolls like something made during the Eisenhower administration, we take a minimum of five victory laps around the great Walmart facility. We make sure to talk to every other Walmart goer we know, exchanging the formal greeting of some reference he made that I didn't fully understand.

Then we gather the essentials to feed my Fopa for the week. He will tell you he has a diverse palate of respectable foods, but I'm not a liar. He lives off of baked beans (eaten right out of the can), potatoes, and warm milk. If he's really ambitious, he'll even eat cooked peas that stink up the whole house.

When we get to the checkout line, we discuss how modern technology is turning us all into cyborgs, and we inform the new employees about Bentonville. My Fopa told me he also hasn't told you about Bentonville. Wow, he's failing you guys. Lucky that I'm here to fill you in.

Bentonville is the wonderful hometown of the one and only founder of Walmart, Sam Walton. He really shined the place up with that Walmart wealth, and now it's an avid tourist destination for Walmart lovers of all generations.

Fopa made the pilgrimage several years ago.  He walked in the steps of old Sam.  He ate butter pecan ice cream just like old Sam. He even visited the grave of old Sam. If you ever want the long version, just ask Fopa sometime when you have a couple of hours to kill.

Once we're ready to pay for an absurd number of potatoes and beans, my Fopa whips out a Benjamin. He holds it up like it's baby Simba, letting the static fluorescent lights shine down so he can see the hidden watermark of Benjamin Franklin.

The Walmart Cyborg Rulers have to pass the bill around, basking in how the great Benjamin is being used to pay for an old man's potatoes and beans instead of funding the future. But they resign themselves to condemning the bill to a cold metal cash register and sending us on our way.

We roll our cart back to its rightful place, listen to the fading tunes of "there's a customer service call at register three," and head out to Fopa's trusty Hyundai. He replaces it every few years with the exact same model and color just like old Sam with his Ford 150 pickups.

Some men buy new cars for the thrill. My Fopa buys new cars for consistency.

We drive home past The Helbing, because that's the only correct direction to drive.

Now that you've experienced Walmart through this much younger view than my Fopa would've provided, go forth and experience the wonderful adventures of cart wrangling, Ovaltine shopping, and Walmart joy.

I’ll be back with another story soon, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.

Sincerely,

June Meltzer

(Guest Columnist, Age 15, Scooter Wrangler Extraordinaire)