I have been living with the last name "Heaps" all my life.
As if Heaps isn't bad enough, my family insisted on nicknaming me "Rusty."
In retrospect, that I wound up writing about cars and the automotive industry seems almost predestined.
I thought about changing my name from time to time, but that seemed like just too much effort. I had more important things to do, such as go to happy hour, watch TV and go to happy hour.
I suspect during the many job-hunting episodes of my life, my resume was passed over more than once because of my name. It's not as bad as Hitler or Focker, but a bit of a hindrance nonetheless.
One reason I never went into politics was because I am unelectable, or at least my name is. "Russ Heaps," It doesn't really resonate.
Consider how few U.S. presidents had a name without a hard consonant in it.
Let's see, there was William Henry Harrison (He lasted all of one month.) and one termer Millard Fillmore (Who? Exactly!).
I couldn't invent anything because whatever I might concoct, would wind up with my name.
Can you imagine Marie Antoinette getting her head lopped off by a Heaps?
A hunk of bologna between two slices of bread could be a Heaps
How about going for a relaxing soak in your Heaps with a few wine-sipping friends?
During hockey games they could smooth the ice with a Heaps.
You could be canning pickles in a Heaps jar.
Or after chowing down on some chili, you could take a Heap in your Heaps.
Heck, Russ Heaps just sounds like someone who is short and bald.
In the movie Clueless, the good-looking guys were referred to as "Baldwins," and the good-looking girls as "Bettys." I guess short, bald guys could have been called "Heaps."
My name is probably the reason I remain single today. The first time any chick I was dating doodled "Mrs. Russ Heaps" on a piece of scratch paper, she checked out of the relationship and ran screaming into the night.
She didn't just say, no; she said, hell no!
So there you have it: I would be taller and more successful if not for my name.
Well, maybe not.