Issue link: https://read.dmtmag.com/i/559769
46 • SEPTEMBER 2015 • WORLD FENCE NEWS In loving memory of Jim Hart, professional fencer, storyteller, and world class humorist, World Fence News will occasionally reprint one of the many articles that he contributed to the publication over the years. Sad- ly, Jim passed away some time ago in Florida, where he lived. This column first appeared in the January 1990 edition of World Fence News. • • • AHHHHH!! That's the primal scream uttered by me the other day to relieve the tension while trying to cash a check from a customer for services rendered. The bank it was drawn on refused to cash it, even though the teller who checked the account said, "Holy Cow – This guy has money!" I asked him what was wrong? Why couldn't he cash it? Foolish me, of course. "It's a two-party check," the teller said, "We don't cash 'em." "Ah ha!" I thought. Then I said, "I'm fairly stupid myself – what's a two-party check? Is there any other kind of check? Checks are made out from one party to another party, right? So what's wrong?" "It's a personal check made out to your company, so it's a two-party check," he said. "We can't cash it. Put it through your own bank." Financial formalities frustrate fencer Banks supply plenty of red tape instead of cash BY JIM HART, WFN CONTRIBUTING EDITOR EMERITUS continued on page 48 When I took the check to my bank for deposit it our account, they told me to take it to the bank it was drawn on. "Why should we have to cover the cost of processing it?" they said. "Let them do it, as it's rather a large amount." "Fine," I said. I went back to the bank where the check was drawn on. They said all they could do was give me a cashier's check in exchange for the check. That was OK with me. Cashier's checks are good, right? Wrong! They wouldn't take their own cashier's check. It was also a two-party check, between the bank and my company. They said to take it to my own bank. I did. They said to take it back to the bank it was drawn on, "Cost like hell to process it." "What the hell's the damn thing good for anyway if no one wants to cash it?" I told the bank officer. "What the hell an I going to tell the judge when all my creditors sue me? 'I've got a $30,000 cashier's check that no one wants to cash, yer Honor?'" The bank teller had a sense of humor. He said, "Your Honor will probably say 'You should have got hard cash, idiot!' and give judgment against you." "Great!" I said. The teller was a friend of mine, so I let his witticism slide. He suggested I get someone to deposit the cashier's check in a store's account, sort of like co-signing a loan, and they would cash it. "What's the difference if it's my company or a store that deposits it?" I asked. All I can translate out of what he explained to me about bank- ing rules and regulations was: it was a two-party check and if I deposit it, it's OK if a store is willing to cash it for my company, and it costs like hell to process if it is deposited to my ac- count. I didn't bother to ask why it doesn't cost like hell to process through a store account. I know when I'm beaten by the world of High Finance! "OK, I give up," I said. "I'll see a store manager." Well, to make a long story longer, I had a supposedly "good" $30,000 cashier's check in my pocket along with 15 cents in cash, and 7/8ths ran out of gas about half a mile from a lit- tle country store with a gas pump. I saw the store perched on top of a steep hill that 7/8ths was at the bottom of. I toyed with the idea of "bump- ing" her to the station with the starter, but figured the battery would give out about half-way. So I told my helper we'd push 7/8ths to the station! "Ohmigod!" is all he said. "If He is listening," I said, "ask Him to lend a hand pushing. You take the steering, I'll push the rear." I'm bigger than my helper so I figured my weight would do more good pushing on the rear than one-handed up front. We pushed my old truck – that I call 7/8ths – up the hill. It seemed like 100 miles instead of a half mile. When 7/8ths rolled to a stop at the pump, I sat down on a pile of used tires for 20 minutes trying to catch my breath. My legs wouldn't work, my arms were made of lead, and I was soaking wet with sweat. 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