Файл: Учет наличных денежных средств в кассе предприятия (Кассовые операции и их характеристика).pdf
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Введение
Актуальность данной темы заключается в том, что за последние годы в бухгалтерском учете произошли существенные изменения, связанные с продолжением его реформирования с учетом принятых законодательных и нормативных документов.
Проблема учета операций по кассе не до конца разработана, включая документальное оформление операций использования денег и денежного оборота.
Постоянный рост учетной информации, не в ущерб ее качеству, вызывает объективную необходимость дальнейшего совершенствования форм и методов бухгалтерского учета, сокращения времени регистрации и обработки первичных учетных данных путем применения вычислительной техники.
Важную роль денежных средств в обеспечении финансово – хозяйственной деятельности обусловливает необходимость организации непрерывного и своевременного учета денежных средств и операции по их движению; контроля наличия, сохранности и целевого использования денежных средств и денежных документов. Для этого все предприятия вне зависимости от формы собственности обязаны хранить свои денежные средства в учреждениях банков. Для текущих расчетов каждая организация может постоянно иметь наличные средства на своей территории. В связи с этим руководитель предприятия организует кассу.
Каждое предприятие хранит остаток денежных средств в кассе, но не более лимита, установленного банком. Обслуживающий банк раз в два года обязан проверять обслуживаемые организации на предмет соблюдения лимита остатка наличности в кассе. За несоблюдение порядка работы с денежной наличностью указом Президента РФ от 23.05.1994г. № 1006 устанавливаются штрафные санкции.
Документальное оформление и учет операций по кассе, необходимо знать, так как, мы должны иметь представление о том, как проводится поступление и выбытие денежных средств в кассе, какие документы необходимы для оформления и в какие сроки.
Цель написания работы заключается в изучение документального оформления и учет денежных средств в кассе предприятия; проанализировать ведение учета денежных средств в кассе ЗАО « Монтаж».
Задача курсовой работы изучить нормативные документы и учебную литературу по данной теме, также изучить унифицированные формы документов и документальное оформление учета денежных средств в кассе, проанализировать организацию ведения учета денежных средств в кассе ЗАО «Монтаж».
Методами нашей работы является:
- изучить нормативно правовую базу;
- изучить публикацию по данной теме;
- анализ ведения учета и документального оформления денежных средств в кассе ЗАО «Монтаж».
Объектом исследования является кассовая документация ЗАО «Монтаж».
This bench represented, exactly, the most diverse collection of curiosities: the paintings were mostly painted with oil paints, covered with dark green lacquer, in dark yellow tinsel frames. Winter with white trees, a completely red evening, like the glow of a fire, a Flemish man with a pipe and a broken hand, more like an Indian cock in cuffs than a man — that's their ordinary stories. To do this, you need to buy a few engraved images: portrait in a sheep's hat, portraits of some generals in triangular hats, with crooked noses. Moreover, the doors of such a shop are usually hung with bundles of works printed with splints on large sheets, which show the native talent of the Russian man. One was Princess, on another the city of Jerusalem, the houses and churches which, without ceremony, swept the red paint, grab a piece of the earth and worshippers of the two Russian men in gloves. Some run-of-the-mill footman is yawning in front of them, holding in his hand the judges with a dinner from the Inn for his master, who, no doubt, will not slurp the soup too hot. Before him already, right, stands in the overcoat of the soldier, the gentleman market, selling two a penknife; vendor with a box filled with shoes. Everyone admires in their own way: men usually poke their fingers; gentlemen consider seriously; lackeys-boys and boys-artisans laugh and tease each other with painted cartoons; old lackeys in frieze overcoats look because only to somewhere to yawn; and traders, young Russian women, hurry by instinct to listen to what the people are and see what he is looking at. Old overcoat and dress showed in it the man who with dedication have been devoted to his work and had no time to worry about his dress, always having a mysterious appeal to youth. He stopped in front of the shop and at first laughed inwardly at these ugly paintings. Finally, he was seized with involuntary reflection: he began to think about would need these works. What Russian people ever look at of, devoured and, Thomas and, it did not seem to him surprising: shows items was very accessible and understood by the people; but where are the buyers of these colorful, dirty oil? Who needs these Flemish men, these red and blue landscapes, which show some claim to a few already the highest step of art, but which expressed all his profound humiliation? It didn't seem to be the work of a self-taught child at all. Otherwise, they would, at all insensitive caricature of the whole, pulled out a sharp gust. But here you can see just stupidity, powerless, decrepit mediocrity, which is self-became the ranks of the arts, while her place was among the low crafts, mediocrity, which was true, but well, his calling and brought to the art of his craft. The same paint, the same style, the same frustration, hand, rather roughly made machine than man! For a long time he stood before these dirty pictures, finally not thinking at all about them, and yet the owner of the shop, a gray man in a frieze overcoat, with a beard, not shaved from Sunday, interpreted it for a long time, traded and agreed on the price, not yet knowing what he liked and what is needed. For these peasants and take little white. Painting of a kind! Just eyes get through; just received from the stock exchange; even the nails are wet. Or here is winter, take winter! Fifteen rubles! One frame is what stands. What a winter! — Here the merchant gave a light click in the canvas, probably to show all the goodness of winter. - You want me to tie them together and take them after you? Where do you want to live? Hey, kid, hand me the rope."Wait, brother, not so soon," said the awakened artist, seeing that the nimble merchant began to connect them together in earnest. He felt somewhat ashamed not to take anything, having stood for so long in the shop, and said: "but wait, I will see if there is anything for me here," and leaning down, he began to take from the floor the piled bulky, worn— out, dusty old flaw, which apparently did not enjoy any honor. There were old family portraits, which descendants, perhaps, in the world could not be found, completely unknown images with a broken canvas, frames, devoid of gilding-in a word, every old litter. But the artist began to consider, thinking secretly: "Maybe something will be found." He has heard stories about how sometimes popular prints sellers were found in the trash paintings of the great masters. The owner, seeing where he got, left his fussiness and, having taken an ordinary position and proper weight, fit again at the door, beckoning passers-by and pointing them with one hand on the bench: "Here, father, here are the pictures! Go, go; received from the exchange." Already he cried plenty and most of the fruitless, talked enough with a scrappy seller, standing it also at the door of his shop, and finally remembering that he has a buyer in the shop, turned the back and went inside it. "That, is there anything you want?"But the artist had already stood motionless in front of one portrait in large, once magnificent frames, but on which the traces of gilding now was an old man with a bronze-colored face, bitchy, stunted; the facial features seemed to have been captured in a moment of convulsive movement and did not respond with Northern force. The fiery afternoon was captured in them. It was draped in a wide Asian suit. No matter how damaged and dusty the portrait, but when he managed to clean the dust from his face, he saw traces of the work of a high artist. The portrait did not seem to be over; but the power of the brush was striking. The most extraordinary were the eyes: it seemed that they used all the power of the brush and all the diligent care of his artist. They just looked, looked even from the portrait, as if destroying its harmony with its strange vivacity. When he brought the portrait to the door, his eyes looked even more. The impression is almost the same they made and the people. The woman who had stopped behind him cried out," Looking, looking, "backed back. Some unpleasant, incomprehensible to himself feeling he felt and put the portrait on the ground. Well, take the portrait! The master said. How much? Said the artist- Yes that for him valued? Give me three quarters! No. Well, what will you give?"Two-cornered," said the artist, getting ready to go. Price what wrapped! But for the twenty one frames not buy. I see you're going to buy it tomorrow, gates! Even think about. Take it, take it, it two-cornered. Right, for a fix only, here's just the first. He made a gesture with his hand, as if saying, "So be it, the picture!"So unexpectedly bought the old portrait and at the same time thought. Why did I buy it? Why should I?"But there was nothing to do. He took the two-cornered one out of his pocket, gave it to his master, took the portrait under his arm, and dragged it with him. By the way, he remembered that the two-cornered one he had given was his last. His thoughts suddenly darkened; annoyance and indifferent emptiness embraced him at the same moment. And almost as an afterthought were the early steps that complete insensibility to everything. The red light of the evening dawn was still in the half of the sky; the houses facing that side were slightly illuminated by its warm light; and yet the cold, bluish glow of the month was getting stronger. Translucent light shadows of tails fell to the ground, thrown by houses and feet of pedestrians. Already the artist began little by little to look at the sky, illuminated by some transparent, thin, questionable light, and almost at one time flew out of the mouth of his words: "What a light tone!"And words: "it's a Shame, damn it!"And he, adjusting portrait, continually from-under mice, has accelerated the step. Tired and covered in sweat, he dragged himself into the Fifteenth line on. With difficulty and shortness of breath he climbed the stairs, drenched in slops and decorated with traces of cats and dogs. There was no answer to his knocking on the door: the man was not at home. He leaned against the window and waited patiently, until at last behind his footsteps came a man in a blue shirt, his henchman, sitter, painter and floor sweeper, staining them immediately with his boots. The guy was called Nikita and spent all the time at the gate when the master was not at home. Nikita tried for a long time to get the key into the lock hole, not visible because of the darkness. Finally the door was unlocked. Entered his front, unbearably cold, as always happens with artists, which, however, they do not notice. Without giving Nikita his coat, he walked with her in his Studio, square room, large, but short, with Windows, lined with all sorts of stuff: chunks of plaster hands, the framework covered with canvas, sketches begun and abandoned, drapery, hanging on the chairs. He tired badly, took off his coat, put absent-mindedly brought the portrait between two small canvasses, and threw himself on the narrow sofa, which it was impossible to tell that it is leather covered, because the number of copper studs, once her, has left in itself, but the skin was left on top of itself, so Nikita had shoved her black stockings, shirts, and all unwashed linen. After sitting and lying down as long as you could relax on this narrow sofa, he finally asked the candle. No candles, ' said Nikita. No? Yes after all and yesterday still not was, - said Nikita. The artist remembered that really yesterday there was no candle, calmed down and was silent. He gave himself to undress and put on his tightly and severely worn robe. Yes here is still, is a master was, - said Nikita. Did you come for the money? No one came — said Nikita. Who with? I don't know who... some quarter. What's the quarterly for?— I don't know why; he says, because the apartment is not crying.- Well, what's happen?— I don't know what will come out; he said: if he does not want, so let him say, move out of the apartment; they wanted to come tomorrow both.- Let them come — - said with a sad indifference. And the inclement mood possessed him completely. "Look, brother, his Professor told him more than once. But you're impatient. You one something to tempt, the one that you love — you're busy and stuff you got the stuff, stuff you uneasy, you too look at it not want. Make sure you don't become a fashion painter. You now have something to start too briskly scream paint. Figure you are not strict, and sometimes even weak, the line is not visible; you're chasing after the fashionable light, for that beats on the first eyes. Look, you'll be in the English race. Beware; for the light is beginning to pull on thee; for I see sometimes a handkerchief around thy neck, a hat with a luster... You can start to write fashionable pictures, portraits for money. Why, at this, and not deploying talent. Suffer. Think about all the work, drop the flair-let them gain other money. Yours won't leave you."The Professor was partly right. Sometimes I wanted, exactly, our artist to shut up, flaunt-in a word, in some places to show their youth. But with all that, he could take over power. Sometimes he could forget everything, take up the brush, and broke away from her not only as beautiful from interrupted sleep. Its taste has evolved significantly. He did not understand all the depth of Raphael, but was already fond of fast, wide brush of, stopped in front of portraits of Titian, admired the Flemish. Still darkened appearance, clothed with old paintings, not all came down before him; but he had already seen through them something, although inwardly disagreed with the Professor to the old masters so unattainable left us; it seemed to him even that the nineteenth century is something much ahead of them, that imitation of nature somehow became now brighter, more lively, closer; in a word, he thought in this case as the youth already comprehended something thinks and feeling it in proud internal consciousness. Sometimes it became annoying to him when he saw how a visiting painter, a Frenchman or a German, sometimes not even a painter by vocation, only by the usual temperament, briskness of the brush and brightness of colors produced a General noise and accumulated a suddenly cash capital. This came to his mind not when, busy with all his work, he forgot and drink, and food, and all the light, but when finally strongly started the need, when there was nothing to buy brushes and paints, when the unruly owner came once ten times a day to demand payment for the apartment. Then jealous was drawn in the fasted his imagination the fate of a rich man, a painter; then ran the thought, running often in the Russian mind: drop everything and grief in spite of everything. And now he was almost in that position. Yes! Wait, wait! He said with annoyance. — There's finally an end to it. Hold on! What money will I eat tomorrow? Nobody will lend after all. And carry I sell all my paintings and drawings, for them I will give for all two-cornered. They are useful, of course, I feel it, each of them I learned something. What good is it? Sketches, try — and all will be sketches, attempts, and would never end them. And who will buy without knowing my name? And who needs drawings of antiquities from the field class, or my unfinished love of a psyche, or the prospect of my room, or my portrait of Nikita, though it is right, the best portraits of a fashionable painter? Why do I suffer and, as a student, digging over the alphabet, while I could Shine no worse than others and be like them, with money. Two terrible eyes directly stuck into it, as if preparing to gobble up it; on the mouth was written a menacing command of the silent. Frightened, he wanted to scream and summon Nikita, who already had time to run in front of his strongman; but suddenly stopped and laughed. The feeling of fear went away in an instant. It was a portrait he bought, which he had forgotten at all. The radiance of the month, illuminating the room, fell on him and told him a strange liveliness. He began to examine and wipe it. He dipped his sponge into the water, passed it over it several times, washed away almost all the accumulated and accumulated dust and dirt from it, hung it in front of him on the wall and marveled at the even more unusual work: the whole face almost came to life, and his eyes looked at him so that he finally shuddered and, backing back, said in an astonished voice: "»
He suddenly came to mind a story he had heard a long time ago from his Professor, about a portrait of the famous Leonardo Vinci, on which the great master worked for several years and still worshipped him unfinished and which, according to Vasari, was, however, honored by all for the perfect and final work of art. The final thing was in his eyes, which, even the slightest, slightly visible veins were not missed and given to the canvas. But here, however, in this, now the former before him, the portrait was something strange. It was no longer art: it destroyed even the harmony of the portrait. They were alive, they were human eyes! It seemed as if they were cut out of a living person and inserted here. There was no longer the high pleasure that surrounds the soul when looking at the work of the artist, no matter how terrible the object he took; there was some painful, tormenting feeling. "What? The artist unwittingly asked himself. — It is, however, nature, it is a living nature; why is it a strange, unpleasant feeling?" Or slave, literal imitation of nature is already a misdemeanor and seems a bright, discordant cry? Or, if you take the subject of indifference, insensitive, not sympathizing with him, he will certainly appear only in one terrible reality, not illuminated by the light of some incomprehensible, hidden in all thoughts, will appear in the reality, which opens when, wanting to comprehend a beautiful man, armed with an anatomical knife, dissecting his inside and see a disgusting man? Why that simple, low nature appears in one artist in some light, and you do not feel any low impression; on the contrary, it seems as if you have enjoyed it, and after that everything flows and moves more calmly and more smoothly around you? And why is the same nature of another artist seems low, dirty, and by the way, he was also faithful to nature? But no, there's nothing illuminating about it. It's like a view in nature: as magnificent as it is, and everything is missing something if there is no sun in the sky."He again went to the portrait to look at those wonderful eyes, and with horror noticed that they were looking at him. It was that strange liveliness that would illuminate the face of the dead man who rose from the grave. Light Li month, one bringing the nonsense dreams and embodying all other images, positive opposite day, or something else was the reason, only he became suddenly, it is not known why, scared to sit alone in the room. He quietly moved away from the portrait, turned away to the other side and tried not to look at him, but meanwhile, the eye involuntarily, himself, mowing, cast over him. At last he was even afraid to walk about the room; it seemed to him as if someone else would be walking behind him at this hour, and every time he looked timidly back. He was never cowardly; but his imagination and nerves were sensitive, and this evening he could not interpret to himself his unwitting fear. He sat down in a corner, but even here it seemed to him that someone was about to look over his shoulder in his face. Nikita's most snoring, heard from the front, did not drive his fear. He finally shyly, without raising her eyes, rose from his seat, went to his behind the screen and went to bed. Through the cracks in the screens he saw his room lit for a month and saw a portrait hanging directly on the wall. Eyes more, even more stared at him and seemed to not want anything else to look once at him. Full of painful feelings, he decided to get out of bed, grabbed the sheet and, approaching the portrait, wrapped it all. Having done this, he went to bed more late, began to think about poverty and the miserable fate of the artist, about the thorny path that lies ahead of him in this world; meanwhile, his eyes involuntarily looked through the crack of the screens at the picture wrapped in a sheet. The radiance of the month enhanced the whiteness of the sheet, and it seemed to him that the terrible eyes began to through the canvas. With fear he turned her eyes intently, as if wanting to confirm that this is nonsense. But finally already in fact... he sees, he sees clearly: the sheets anymore... portrait whole opened and looks past all that is around, right at him, looks him inside... His heart sank. And sees: the old man moved suddenly and ran into the frame with both hands. At last he rose up in his arms and leaned both legs out of the frames... Through a crack screens visible was a mere empty frame. Across the room there came the sound of steps, which finally became closer and closer to the screen. And here he looked, just behind the screens, with the same bronze face and his big eyes. Tried to scream — and felt that he had no voice, tried to move, make some movement-members do not move. With his mouth open and his breath frozen, he looked at the tall, scary phantom in some broad Asian robe, and waited for what he would do. The old man sat down almost at his feet and after that something pulled out from under the folds of his wide dress. It was bag. The old man untied it and, seizing the two ends, shook it: with a dull sound fell to the floor heavy convolution in the form of long columns; each was wrapped in blue paper, and each was exposed: "1000 heart". Sticking his long bony hands out of his wide sleeves, the old man began to unfold the parcels. Gold flashed. However great a painful feeling and the artist's fear, but he stared all the gold, gazing motionless, as it unfolded in the bony hands, gleamed, rang subtly and dull and again. Then he noticed one bundle, which had gone down from the others, at the foot of his bed, in his head. He seized him almost convulsively and, full of fear, looked to see if the old man would notice. But the old man seemed very busy. He collected all his parcels, put them back in the bag and, without looking at him, went behind the screen. Heart was beating much when he heard resounded through the room rustling the other steps. He clutched his bundle in his hand, trembling with his whole body for him, and suddenly heard that the steps were approaching the screens again, - it was evident that the old man remembered that one parcel was missing. And here is-he looked to him again for screens. Full of despair, he squeezed his bundle with all his strength, used all his effort to make a movement, cried out — and woke up. The cold sweat had doused him all; his heart was beating as hard as it could beat; his chest was so cramped as if it wanted to fly the last breath out of her. "Oh, was that a dream?" He said, taking himself by the head with both hands, but the terrible liveliness of the appearance was not like a dream. He saw, already awake, the old man went into the frame, flashed a wide even the gender of his clothing, his hand felt clearly that held for a minute before SIM some weight. The light of the month illuminated the room, forcing it to protrude from the dark corners where the canvas is, where the plaster hand, where the drapery left on the chair, where pantaloons and untreated boots. Only then he noticed that not lying in bed, and standing directly in front of the portrait. With a still fear he looked at him and saw how the living human eyes directly stuck into him. Cold sweat came out on his face; he wanted to move away, but felt his feet as if they had grown to the ground. And he sees: it is no longer a dream: the old man's features moved, and his lips began to stretch out to him, as if they wanted to suck him... With a yell of despair he jumped back -- and awoke."Surely it was a dream?"With a beating heart, he felt his hands around him. Yes, he's lying on the bed in exactly the same position as he fell asleep. Before him the screen; sung month filled the room. Through the crack in the screen — I had seen the portrait, enclosed as with a sheet, as he closed it. So, it was also a dream! But the compressed hand feels until now, as if there was something in it. The heartbeat was strong, almost scary; the heaviness in the chest was unbearable. He pressed his eyes into the crack and gazed intently at the sheet. And now he sees clearly that the sheet begins to open, as if under her floundering hands and tried to throw it. "My God, my God, what is it!"He exclaimed, crossing himself desperately, and woke up .And it was also a dream! He jumped out of bed, mad, unspoken, and could no longer explain what was happening to him: the pressure of a nightmare or a house-elf, the delirium of a fever or a living vision. Trying to calm down any emotional excitement and the split blood that was beating with a tense pulse through all his veins, he went to the window and opened the window. The cold wind that smelled revived him. The moonlight was still on the roofs and white walls of the houses, although small clouds began to move more often across the sky. All was quiet: occasionally drifted to the ears of the distant rattle of a droshky driver who is somewhere in a hidden alley was asleep, lull his lazy horse, waiting a delayed rider. Long looked he, sticking out his head in the window. Already the sky was born and the signs of the approaching dawn; finally he felt the approaching slumber, slammed the window, went away, went to bed and soon fell asleep soundly, most soundly. He woke up very late and felt that unpleasant condition that takes possession of a man after a faint; his head hurt unpleasantly. The room was; unpleasant sputum was sown in the air and passed through the cracks of his Windows, cluttered with paintings or primed canvas. He sat on his ragged couch, unhappy as a wet rooster, not knowing for himself what to do, and remembered at last dream.
It seemed to him that there was some terrible passage from reality among the dream. It seemed that even in the look and expression of the old man as if something was saying that he had been with him this night; his hand felt the weight just lying in itself, as if someone had snatched it from him just a minute before this. It seemed to him that if he kept a tight bundle, he surely would have remained in his hand, and after waking up."My God, if only there was a part of that money! He said, sighing heavily, and in his imagination all the parcels he had seen with an enticing inscription began to fall out of the bag: '1000 quirky ones.' Convolutions unfolded, gold glittered, wrapped again, and he sat, tired motionless and senseless his eyes in the empty air, not being in a state to break away from such an object — as a child sitting before a sweet dish and seeing, swallowing salivating, as others eat it. At last there was a knock at the door that made him Wake up unpleasantly. The owner with the quarter supervisor who emergence for people small, as we know, even more unpleasant, than for rich the person of the applicant entered. The owner of a small house in which he lived, was one of the creations, what are usually the owners of houses somewhere in the Fifteenth line of island, on the St. Petersburg side or in a remote corner of -creation, what a lot in Russia and which character is as difficult to determine as the color of the worn coat. In his youth he was a captain and a screamer, and was used for civilian Affairs, the master was well carved, and was quick, and dapper, and stupid; but in his old age, he merged all these sharp features in some dim uncertainty. He was already widows were already retired, not flaunted, not bragging, not bullied, just loved to drink tea and talk to him nonsense; he paced the room, straightening a tallow candle; gently at the end of each month dropped to its residents for money; went out into the street with the key in hand, to look at the roof of his house; drove a few times the janitor out of his kennel, where he was lying sleeping; one elephant, man, retired, who after the whole happy-go-lucky life and shaking on the chaise left alone vulgar habits.- Please look yourself, said the owner, turning to the quarter and spreading his hands-that does not pay for the apartment, does not pay. Well, what if there's no money? I'll pay.— Me, sir, wait, the host said in their hearts, making a gesture with the key which he held in his hand, — I have Colonel lives seven years he lives; and the barn and stables will hire two stall, three in front of her yard man — that's what my tenants. I have, to tell you frankly, there is no such institution, not to pay for the apartment. Please pay the money now and move out."Yes, if you were ordered, so please pay," said the district guard, with a little shaking of his head and laying his finger for the button of his uniform. Pay what? — question. I don't have a penny now. In that case satisfy Ivan with editions of the profession, — I told quarter, — he, maybe, will agree to take pictures. Welcome to was a picture with a noble content to be able to hang on the wall, at least some General with a star or, and out of man drew man in a shirt, the rumors-that rubs the paint. Even with him, pig, portrait drawing; him I the neck pinned: I have all the nails from the valves yanked crook. Here's a look at what subjects: here's a room draws. Well would perishing room tidy, neat, and he???????? With all litter and a squabble, what nor was sprawled out. Look at how you put the room in my room, if you'll see for yourself. Yes, I have seven years of living residents, colonels, Anna... No, I'll tell you: there is no worse than a tenant, like a painter: a pig lives, just do not bring God. And all this had to listen to the patiently poor painter. Supervisor, meanwhile, was paintings and sketches and then showed that his soul alive, and even the master was no stranger to artistic impressions, He said, poking his finger on one canvas, where a naked woman was depicted, " the subject of that... playful. And why is this so black under his nose? Tobacco, that whether, he itself fell asleep? Shadow replied to this sternly and without paying to him. Well, it would be somewhere in other place attributed, and under the nose too prominent a place, ' said the quarterly, — and whose portrait? He continued, approaching the portrait of an old man, is really terrible too. As if he really was so scary, he just looks! What a thunder! Who you writing? This is one... - said and not finished words: thought I heard a crack. Quarterly shook, see, too hard the frame of the portrait, thanks to the clumsy device of police of their hands; the side walls broke in, one fell to the floor, and fell with it, ringing hard, a bundle of blue paper. Like a madman he rushed to pick it up, grabbed the parcel, and squeezed it convulsively in the hand, dropping down from the gravity.- No, the money rang, - said the quarter, who heard the knock of something fell to the floor and could not see him for the speed of movement, with what rushed to clean up the Charts.- What do you care what I have?— And this thing is that you now have to pay the owner for the apartment; that you have money, and you don't want to pay, that's what.- Well, I'll pay him today.- Well, why did you not want to pay before, but you are disturbing the owner, and that's the police also disturb?— Because of the money I didn't want to touch it; I told him today in the evening all I will pay and move out of the apartment tomorrow, because I don't want to stay with this host."Well, Ivan, he will pay you," said the quarter, turning to the owner. — But if what you are satisfied as follows today in the evening, then excuse me. Thank God, the devil took them away. Said when I heard in the front door. He looked out in front, followed Nikita to be completely alone, locked the door behind him and, returning to his room, began to unfold the package with a strong heart trembling. It was the money, every one of the new, hot as fire. Almost crazed, he sat behind a Golden pile, still wondering if it was all in a dream. There were exactly a thousand of them in the package; his appearance was exactly the same as they had seen him in his dream. A few minutes he went through them, reviewed, and still could not recover. In his imagination rose suddenly all the stories about treasures, boxes with secret drawers, left by ancestors for their grandchildren a bankrupt, in the firm belief in the future of their ruined position. He thought: "did not come up and now some grandfather leave his grandson a gift, putting it in the frame of the family portrait?"Full of Romanic delirium, he began to even think, is there any secret connection with his fate: is not the existence of a portrait of his own existence, and the acquisition of it is not already some kind of predestination? He began to look at the frame of the portrait with curiosity. In one side of it was a hollowed out gutter, pushed by a Board so deftly and imperceptibly that if the capital hand of the quarter warden did not make a break, would remain at rest until the end of the century. Looking at the portrait, he marveled again at the high work, the unusual decoration of the eyes; they no longer seemed terrible to him, but still in the soul remained every time involuntarily unpleasant feeling. "No —" he said to himself, grandfather you are, and I will put you behind the glass and make you a Golden frame for it." Here he threw his hand upon the Golden heap that lay before him, and his heart was pounding with such a touch. "What to do with them? He thought, staring at them eyes. Now I'm set, at least three years, can lock yourself in a room, working. For paint I now have; for lunch, for tea, on the contents of the apartment are; to disturb me now, no one will be; buy yourself a great Menken, order plaster, legs, put Venus, bought prints from the first pictures. And if I work for three years for myself, slowly, not for sale, I'll kill them all, and I can be a good artist."So he said at the same time with the mind that told him; but inside another voice was heard, more audible and ringing. And as he looked once more at the gold, the twenty-two years and the hot youth spoke in him. Now in his power was all that he looked hitherto envious eyes than admired from afar, swallowing salivating. Wow, how zealous it was when he just thought about it! And anything and he, seizing money, was already on the street. First of all, I went to the tailor, dressed from head to toe and, like a child, began to look at myself constantly; bought perfume, lipstick, hired, without bargaining, the first got a gorgeous apartment on, with mirrors and solid glasses; bought accidentally in the store, expensive binoculars, accidentally bought too the abyss of all sorts of ties, more than was needed, curled at the hairdresser's myself curls, rolled twice around the city in a carriage for no reason, full without measure of sweets in a candy store and went to the restaurant the French, which hitherto have heard the same vague rumors about how the Chinese state. There he dined with arms akimbo, casting a rather proud look on others and adjusting constantly against the mirror curled tresses. There he drank a bottle of champagne, which was also hitherto more familiar to him by ear.
Глава 1. Кассовые операции и их характеристика
1.1. Понятие кассовых операций и их документальное оформление
Обращение наличных денег в России регулируется Положением ЦБ РФ от 05.01.98г. №14-п (в ред. от 22.О1.99г.) «О правилах организации наличного денежного обращения на территории РФ». Все предприятия вне зависимости от формы собственности обязаны хранить свои денежные средства в учреждениях банков. Для текущих расчетов каждая организация может постоянно иметь наличные средства на своей территории. Для этого руководитель предприятия организует кассу.
Каждое предприятие для осуществления расчетов наличными деньгами должно иметь кассу. Касса- подразделение предприятия, организации, выполняющее операции с наличными деньгами и другими ценностями, а также сами наличные деньги и денежные документы, находящиеся на хранении в этом подразделении, предназначенные на текущие повседневные расходы предприятия.[1, с.355]
Получение и расходование наличных денег из кассы организации считаются кассовыми операциями, оформление которых регламентируется нормативными актами ЦБ РФ: «Порядок ведения кассовых операций в Российской Федерации» от 22 сентября 1993 г. № 40, «Положение о правилах организации наличного денежного обращения на территории Российской Федерации» от 19 декабря 1997 г. с изменениями и дополнениями от 22 января 1999 г.; Указание ЦБ РФ от 14 ноября 2001г. №1050-у «Об установлении предельного размера расчетов наличными деньгами в РФ между юридическими лицами по одной сделке», Письмо ЦБ РФ от 2 июля 2002 г. № 85-Т «По вопросам осуществления расчетов между юридическими лицами наличными деньгами по одному договору». Все операции с кассовой наличностью осуществляет кассир, являясь лицом с полной материальной ответственностью. Администрация, прежде чем оформить работника на эту должность, должна ознакомить его с Порядком ведения кассовых операций.
Поступление наличных денег в кассу организации оформляется приходными кассовыми ордерами (ф. № КО-1), которые должны быть пронумерованы по порядку с начала отчетного года. Обязательными реквизитами приходного кассового ордера являются наименование организации и структурного подразделения, получающего денежные средства; номер документа; дата его составления; дата внесения денежных средств в кассу; корреспондирующие счета; наименование юридического или физического лица, от которого получены средства; сумма, указанная цифрами и прописью, с выделением, в том числе НДС; основание; подписи главного бухгалтера и кассира.
