I hate paying with a check.
"That'll be $24.88 please."
"Uh...okay. Let me just fill out this slip of paper, hand it over, not make eye contact with you in hopes you don't realize it's not a real form of American currency, and I'm broke." And then these 15 year old cashiers who have never seen a checkbook look at you like you just handed them a freshly picked booger. They stare at it, hold it up to the light, call the manager over..."Hey Mark, this guy just handed me this thing, is this a joke?"
Listen. I don't have any money. But maybe if I just fill out this piece of paper that's the same size of real money, I think you will accept it for some reason, and maybe the bank will pay you back.
I love the old ladies who write everything down meticulously in their balance book. Perfect cursive, looks like the diary of a serial killer.
And then, when you write out the total on the second line, make sure you write the tail of the "Y" in "Twenty-four dollars and eighty-eight cents onlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy" all the way across the entire check. Because we all know that 15 year old zitty faced kid is really a member of the Belgium underground fraud gang who is going to take your check to his grandma's basement, take out a pen, and write, "...eighty-eight cents onlyyyyyyy and 1.4 million dollars." And then you're screwed.
Please, burn your checkbooks.