I met a friend in a bit of a horrible pub in Kennington last night. Whenever I've been there I've thought it had an odd atmosphere and I haven't quite been able to put my finger on what it was. It is attached to a little theatre which I believe is quite well respected in South-East London. On the walls there are various posters for old productions of Beckett and Lawrence plays. So you would expect it to be slightly trendy and arty but the clientele are just the usual raddled old messes with unfortunate growths. The bar staff are quite rude and unhelpful, and I was forbidden from sitting on a couch because it was "Ladies Only".
Anyway when I got there it was absolutely rammed and very smoky. I had the very strong feeling of being checked out as I went in, but I put this down to my own paranoia. Not many people were drinking or talking to each other, and there was a general feeling of moroseness. The Bee Gees and Rick Astley were playing on the big screen TV but even this did not lift the mood.
My friend arrived and we started trying to work out just what the hell was going on. Eventually we noticed a guy wandering around with a box full of bulky packets of cash. He was handing these around to people who would immediately count the money and leave very quickly. We assumed it was a bunch of builders being paid or something, but this seemed a bit strange on a Thursday at this time of the month. Soon we saw that he was picking up cheques from people too, the large computer-printed type which I would associate with casual labour. (At least, those are the sort of cheques I've got when I've done casual work.) There was, we now noticed, an attractive assistant who was also going round picking up cheques. Periodically, someone would arrive and look around the pub in a furtive way, clutching his cheque, and then take a seat until the assistant came up to him and relieved him of it. At one point, the assistant came out and plonked a plate of triangular sandwiches on the bar for everybody. She clearly worked at the pub or had their permission to go in and out of the kitchen.
An hour after we arrived everybody except for us and about five other people had disappeared.
What the fuck was going on? There are plenty of legal cheque-cashing joints around Camberwell and Kennington. They look pretty dodgy too, generally, but not illegal. Can anybody enlighten me?
― Sam (chirombo), Friday, 8 November 2002 12:43 (twenty-three years ago)
I have never understood the cheque cashing thing. I mean I know that some people don't have bank accounts so cashing uncrossed cheques makes sense as a service.
But I see signs in shops/pawnbrokers etc. saying 'Cheques cashed - inc. crossed, a/c payee cheques'. How does that work?
― N. (nickdastoor), Friday, 8 November 2002 12:48 (twenty-three years ago)
Yes, that was my second question.
― Sam (chirombo), Friday, 8 November 2002 12:53 (twenty-three years ago)
In Aus you used to be able to just write on the back of a crossed cheque "Please pay to [person's name]" and sign it and it was okay but I have heard that they don't like that anymore. Not sure if it's against the law or not.
I used to cash my casual pay cheques this way at "The Stocking Shop" every week and buy new pairs of opaque black stockings (they were the only shop that sold them in those days). I became v. good friends with the woman who owned the shop.
― toraneko (toraneko), Friday, 8 November 2002 12:56 (twenty-three years ago)
is it a semi-underground service for foax we/o bank accounts? or so in the red that every exchange costs them money? or who work during banking hours? i don't see why it need be illegal...
― mark s (mark s), Friday, 8 November 2002 13:05 (twenty-three years ago)
No I know it wasn't necessarily illegal, but I've never seen anything like it before. And it made for a strange evening.
― Sam (chirombo), Friday, 8 November 2002 13:43 (twenty-three years ago)
Some of the training we have to do at work tells us to be very suspicious of businesses which involve cash changing hands, because such businesses are ripe for use by money launderers.
I have no evidence that that's what Sam saw, though.
I know the pub, too, and I think it's OK, though nothing great. But then they let me sit on the sofas, so ner.
― Tim (Tim), Friday, 8 November 2002 13:49 (twenty-three years ago)