The Name’s the Thing

So we are referred to (in some quarters) as the Consortium. Or, more properly, our (Margie and my) place is so referred to.

Interesting.

The reason, I am told, has to do with our nomenclature. I’m a Hill, Margie’s a Kleerup. Margie kept her maiden name for two reasons that I’m aware of. First, should she publish, there are a lot fewer Kleerups than Hills out there, making journal lookups and the like a lot easier. Second, because there are a lot fewer Kleerups than Hills out there (I can count the number in the US on the fingers of both hands, I think), so it’s a Proud Name That Should Be Retained. (Which is why we decided that if Katherine was a boy, she’d be a Kleerup.)

I’ll add another one to both of those very good (and supported by me) reasons: because I’m not hung up on Margie becoming a Hill. Because we are we, and her having her own name is just fine by me (as would be her taking my name — or, if she had felt that strongly about it, my taking her name). And I’d known her fifteen years as Margie Kleerup (let alone how long she’d known herself to be that), and it would have been weird any other way.

Margie will go by “Margie Hill” or “Mrs. Hill” socially, if that’s how things get typed up on the seating chart or name tags. And I have been known to answer to Mr. Kleerup (usually by those who know Margie and assume she’s taken my name).

Indeed, I had a “David Kleerup” Costco card for a while. Margie’s folks have had a business membership with Costco for quite some time (since it was Price Club) as Kleerup Enterprises. When I married into the business, so to speak, I got a Costco card … that said, for reasons taht escape me, David Kleerup. It had my picture, of course, and I had no problem with it. It was even kind of funny.

Then I got the Checkout Clerk from Hell. No, that’s too harsh. But think of the stereotypical teenage male checkout clerk, completely with breaking voice, from The Simpsons. That was this guy. All was well until I tried to pay my Costco bill with my Discover card (back when they took Discover). He looked at the credit card. He looked at the Costco card. His eyes got wide.

I’m sure he was onto breaking open some incredible credit card fraud ring. Because it was clear that there was Something Funny Going On Here.

“Uh, these names don’t match.”

“Hmmm?” Dave remembers the Costco card name. “Oh. That’s my wife’s last name.”

“It’s not your name?”

“No, but it’s my wife’s. They issued it to me with her name by mistake.”

“She doesn’t have the same last name?” This seemed to be a novel, probably heretical, concept.

“No, she goes by Kleerup.”

“But this credit card says ‘Hill.'”

“Yes.” Dave starts speaking more slowly so that the clerk can understand him. “My name is Dave Hill. My wife’s name is Margie Kleerup. I got this Costco card through her family’s business, Kleerup Enterprises, and they put the wrong last name on.”

“That’s not the same last name as on the credit card.”

“Noooooo, it’s not. But that’s me. See, there’s my picture on the Costco card. And –” Rummaging. “Here’s my driver’s license. See — my real last name, plus my picture.”

“But they don’t match.”

Dave looks around for Margie, who had gone to the drink stand to get me a soda. “Margie?”

Margie comes over. Margie shows her ID — her driver’s license (“See, same home address”), her Costco card, even some Kleerup Enterprises business cards.

“I’m going to have to call the manager.”

Meanwhile, of course the line is backed up, impatient customers are wondering who to lynch first, and, dammit, we always go to Costco as the last stop on our errands (since we usually end up with perishables), so I was tired and hungry, and not just a bit embarrassed.

The manager, fortunately, was able to hold two or more concepts in his head at once, and so understood the problem. I was asked to get a new Costco card, with my real name, and all was right with the world.

I’m sure that checker, though, was disappointed.

At any rate, I was willing to be Dave Kleerup as need be (and still am).

And, frankly, given the hassle I went through with that, I can’t imagine pressuring Margie to change her name.

For those folks who have decided otherwise — more power to you. Names have magic, and how we conjure with them is up to us, thank you. Don’t fence me in, and I’ll not ring you with chain link either. ‘Nuff said.

The only other complexity our dissimilar names cause is … well, the source of this Consortium thing. Because it’s not the “Hills’ house,” and it’s not the “Kleerups’ house.” And we don’t really hyphenate our names (except in our domain). I’ve tended to use “Hill/Kleerup” at times, but that’s not always possible. It makes doing up invitations to functions interesting, too, when it’s for people (like at the office) who know one of us or the other, but need more than just first names.

So. The Consortium. There we go. “An association or combination for the purpose of engaging in a joint venture [i.e., marriage].” I like it.