The cheque is a dramatic (and dying) way to spend a dollar. We must keep it alive
Picture this. You're in a crowded restaurant, seated at the head of the table, surrounded by friends and family. A long lunch that has bled into dinner. Everywhere you look, there are half-empty bottles of wine, people are enjoying themselves, and there's talk of kicking on to another venue. Because you're in a double-breasted suit and everyone else is dressed normally, the waiter brings you the bill. 'Cash or card, sir?' Neither, you say, pulling a Montblanc pen from your inside pocket, followed by a personal chequebook.
You write a cheque for the full amount plus a little something extra for the staff. You date it, sign it, fold it in half and discreetly slip it into the waiter's pocket. Two pats on the shoulder, a knowing wink. He begins, 'Sir, we no longer accept cheques as a form of payment ...' but his protest is drowned out by cheers. People have seen what you've done. They adore you. Life is good.
Of all the things 1990s pop culture led me to believe would feature heavily in adult life – quicksand, hammerhead sharks, Mr Squiggle – the disappearance of the chequebook is easily the most devastating. Back then, cheques were everywhere: in films, on TV, and most memorably, tucked inside the birthday cards from my Greek grandparents. Every year, without fail, I'd open the card, skim the well-wishes, and then turn my attention to the real prize – a rectangular slip of paper, payable to me and me only.
Superior to simply being gifted cash, the cheque's power lay in delayed gratification. Twenty bucks in a card is twenty bucks in a card, but a handwritten cheque for twenty dollars and zero cents offered something far more valuable – the promise of money.
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Of course, because we are inherently impatient creatures with no appreciation for the fact that good things come to those who wait, we went and ruined it all. In 1980, cheques accounted for 85 per cent of non-cash payments, so if you wanted to buy a house in Sydney (something people could still do in the 1980s), then you'd likely be writing a cheque for $76,500.
By the mid-1990s, cheques still represented 50 per cent of non-cash payments and were deeply ingrained in the culture. Tabloid newspapers began paying sources for stories about high-profile figures, giving rise to the term chequebook journalism. Meanwhile, in 1994, my favourite cheque-related movie, Blank Cheque, was released. The film follows a boy who inherits a blank cheque and uses it to buy a house under an alter ego, which he then fills with all his favourite gadgets and toys. The dream!
According to Wikipedia, ' Blank Cheque received mostly negative reviews,' but you know what they haven't made a movie about? Contactless payments.
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The Age
a day ago
- The Age
The cheque is a dramatic (and dying) way to spend a dollar. We must keep it alive
Picture this. You're in a crowded restaurant, seated at the head of the table, surrounded by friends and family. A long lunch that has bled into dinner. Everywhere you look, there are half-empty bottles of wine, people are enjoying themselves, and there's talk of kicking on to another venue. Because you're in a double-breasted suit and everyone else is dressed normally, the waiter brings you the bill. 'Cash or card, sir?' Neither, you say, pulling a Montblanc pen from your inside pocket, followed by a personal chequebook. You write a cheque for the full amount plus a little something extra for the staff. You date it, sign it, fold it in half and discreetly slip it into the waiter's pocket. Two pats on the shoulder, a knowing wink. He begins, 'Sir, we no longer accept cheques as a form of payment ...' but his protest is drowned out by cheers. People have seen what you've done. They adore you. Life is good. Of all the things 1990s pop culture led me to believe would feature heavily in adult life – quicksand, hammerhead sharks, Mr Squiggle – the disappearance of the chequebook is easily the most devastating. Back then, cheques were everywhere: in films, on TV, and most memorably, tucked inside the birthday cards from my Greek grandparents. Every year, without fail, I'd open the card, skim the well-wishes, and then turn my attention to the real prize – a rectangular slip of paper, payable to me and me only. Superior to simply being gifted cash, the cheque's power lay in delayed gratification. Twenty bucks in a card is twenty bucks in a card, but a handwritten cheque for twenty dollars and zero cents offered something far more valuable – the promise of money. Loading Of course, because we are inherently impatient creatures with no appreciation for the fact that good things come to those who wait, we went and ruined it all. In 1980, cheques accounted for 85 per cent of non-cash payments, so if you wanted to buy a house in Sydney (something people could still do in the 1980s), then you'd likely be writing a cheque for $76,500. By the mid-1990s, cheques still represented 50 per cent of non-cash payments and were deeply ingrained in the culture. Tabloid newspapers began paying sources for stories about high-profile figures, giving rise to the term chequebook journalism. Meanwhile, in 1994, my favourite cheque-related movie, Blank Cheque, was released. The film follows a boy who inherits a blank cheque and uses it to buy a house under an alter ego, which he then fills with all his favourite gadgets and toys. The dream! According to Wikipedia, ' Blank Cheque received mostly negative reviews,' but you know what they haven't made a movie about? Contactless payments.
Sydney Morning Herald
2 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
The cheque is a dramatic (and dying) way to spend a dollar. We must keep it alive.
Picture this. You're in a crowded restaurant, seated at the head of the table, surrounded by friends and family. A long lunch that has bled into dinner. Everywhere you look, there are half-empty bottles of wine, people are enjoying themselves, and there's talk of kicking on to another venue. Because you're in a double-breasted suit and everyone else is dressed normally, the waiter brings you the bill. 'Cash or card, sir?' Neither, you say, pulling a Montblanc pen from your inside pocket, followed by a personal chequebook. You write a cheque for the full amount plus a little something extra for the staff. You date it, sign it, fold it in half and discreetly slip it into the waiter's pocket. Two pats on the shoulder, a knowing wink. He begins, 'Sir, we no longer accept cheques as a form of payment ...' but his protest is drowned out by cheers. People have seen what you've done. They adore you. Life is good. Of all the things 1990s pop culture led me to believe would feature heavily in adult life – quicksand, hammerhead sharks, Mr Squiggle – the disappearance of the chequebook is easily the most devastating. Back then, cheques were everywhere: in films, on TV, and most memorably, tucked inside the birthday cards from my Greek grandparents. Every year, without fail, I'd open the card, skim the well-wishes, and then turn my attention to the real prize – a rectangular slip of paper, payable to me and me only. Superior to simply being gifted cash, the cheque's power lay in delayed gratification. Twenty bucks in a card is twenty bucks in a card, but a handwritten cheque for twenty dollars and zero cents offered something far more valuable – the promise of money. Of course, because we are inherently impatient creatures with no appreciation for the fact that good things come to those who wait, we went and ruined it all. In 1980, cheques accounted for 85 per cent of non-cash payments, so if you wanted to buy a house in Sydney (something people could still do in the 1980s), then you'd likely be writing a cheque for $76,500. By the mid-1990s, cheques still represented 50 per cent of non-cash payments and were deeply ingrained in the culture. Tabloid newspapers began paying sources for stories about high-profile figures, giving rise to the term chequebook journalism. Meanwhile, in 1994, my favourite cheque-related movie, Blank Cheque, was released. The film follows a boy who inherits a blank cheque and uses it to buy a house under an alter ego, which he then fills with all his favourite gadgets and toys. The dream! According to Wikipedia, ' Blank Cheque received mostly negative reviews,' but you know what they haven't made a movie about? Contactless payments. These days, cheques are all but extinct, accounting for just 0.2 per cent of transactions – a number that continues to decline yearly. This is part of a broader issue stemming from our obsession with convenience that poses a deeply troubling question: We opted to tap and go rather than write and wait, but at what cost?
The Age
2 days ago
- The Age
The cheque is a dramatic (and dying) way to spend a dollar. We must keep it alive.
Picture this. You're in a crowded restaurant, seated at the head of the table, surrounded by friends and family. A long lunch that has bled into dinner. Everywhere you look, there are half-empty bottles of wine, people are enjoying themselves, and there's talk of kicking on to another venue. Because you're in a double-breasted suit and everyone else is dressed normally, the waiter brings you the bill. 'Cash or card, sir?' Neither, you say, pulling a Montblanc pen from your inside pocket, followed by a personal chequebook. You write a cheque for the full amount plus a little something extra for the staff. You date it, sign it, fold it in half and discreetly slip it into the waiter's pocket. Two pats on the shoulder, a knowing wink. He begins, 'Sir, we no longer accept cheques as a form of payment ...' but his protest is drowned out by cheers. People have seen what you've done. They adore you. Life is good. Of all the things 1990s pop culture led me to believe would feature heavily in adult life – quicksand, hammerhead sharks, Mr Squiggle – the disappearance of the chequebook is easily the most devastating. Back then, cheques were everywhere: in films, on TV, and most memorably, tucked inside the birthday cards from my Greek grandparents. Every year, without fail, I'd open the card, skim the well-wishes, and then turn my attention to the real prize – a rectangular slip of paper, payable to me and me only. Superior to simply being gifted cash, the cheque's power lay in delayed gratification. Twenty bucks in a card is twenty bucks in a card, but a handwritten cheque for twenty dollars and zero cents offered something far more valuable – the promise of money. Of course, because we are inherently impatient creatures with no appreciation for the fact that good things come to those who wait, we went and ruined it all. In 1980, cheques accounted for 85 per cent of non-cash payments, so if you wanted to buy a house in Sydney (something people could still do in the 1980s), then you'd likely be writing a cheque for $76,500. By the mid-1990s, cheques still represented 50 per cent of non-cash payments and were deeply ingrained in the culture. Tabloid newspapers began paying sources for stories about high-profile figures, giving rise to the term chequebook journalism. Meanwhile, in 1994, my favourite cheque-related movie, Blank Cheque, was released. The film follows a boy who inherits a blank cheque and uses it to buy a house under an alter ego, which he then fills with all his favourite gadgets and toys. The dream! According to Wikipedia, ' Blank Cheque received mostly negative reviews,' but you know what they haven't made a movie about? Contactless payments. These days, cheques are all but extinct, accounting for just 0.2 per cent of transactions – a number that continues to decline yearly. This is part of a broader issue stemming from our obsession with convenience that poses a deeply troubling question: We opted to tap and go rather than write and wait, but at what cost?
