There’s only one place left in the universe that requires me to pay with a paper check, and it’s a place at which I have no choice but to pay. The local tax office. So I to continue to buy checks. I probably would anyway. They’re bound to come in handy for the odd situation where the bank’s ATM system sputters.
So as not to be anything other than thrifty, I always buy the cheapest checks available. “Gimme the cheapest checks ya got”, I literally say. In past years, this meant powder blue, light green, or puke yellow Charlie-Brown-shirt-striped checks. Highly spartan. No problem, they could be made of paper bag for all I care. As long as they don’t have Nazi propaganda or ethnic slurs on them, I’m thrilled.
After all these years, the cheap check philosophy finally failed.
This time, cheapness got me Scooby Doo.
Do you know anybody old enough to write checks who would be so into Scooby Doo as to buy the checks? Of course not. I mean, even if I had a really tiny kid who had his own checking account for some reason, I wouldn’t get him Scooby checks. I’d get him South Park checks.
So of course, I wouldn’t be so vain as to not use the checks to pay this quarter’s tax installment. But I did leave a small note in the memo area. “These checks were cheap.”
I might’ve gotten away with decent checks if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog…