My favorite memory of leftover firecrackers was a few years ago when I managed an apartment complex for the mentally ill that was located on top of a hill down from which was a huge Section-8/HUD housing project that had some “interesting” types of its own. The pity was the projects were actually attractively built and housed some really good people who were down on their luck, but the other half were just totally welfare frauding/dysfunctional/barely-worth-the-price-and-trouble-of-shelling-the-place-but-I’d-subsidize the-powder-required-anyway Mos Eisley Meets Gomorrah oxygen thieves who stole anything that was left outside at our complex (including things like flower pots or battered hibachis that weren’t worth a dollar), vandalized cars, shot out car windows with BB guns, sold/bought crack in open daylight, etc., and the cops would do nothing about them most of time and the apartment managers down there would NEVER do anything about the troublemakers (probably because they were afraid).
One night a bunch of the Springer-trash broke into the HUD apartment’s pool and started having a huge party. It was drunken, there were people jumping from the roof of the clubhouse into the pool (and you absolutely know that if one of them had fallen off the roof and hurt themselves they’d have sued and probably won) and drinking and blasting music and this was well after 2 a.m… Several of my resident crazinoes had called the cops- they never showed up (though in their defense the city’s main police station was almost a mile away and there was no Krispy Kreme between us and them). We were royally pissed but we’d heard too many gunshots and the like over the months/years to try and address the problem ourselves, yet none of us could sleep so a few of us sat outside in a gazebo smoking and bitching.
One of the residents was a wildly bipolar Sigourney Weaver clone I’ll call ‘Ripley’. She was a former model and from a well-to-do family and tried to lord it over the others but was also one of the sickest when off her meds, which was constantly (she thought she could manage) and a total… well, anyway- while the rest of us were bitching Ripley, wearing a kimono and obviously pissed, calmly walked down from her 2nd floor apartment to our complex mailbox, never saying a word or addressing anybody. We saw her flick her lighter, no idea what she was doing, then she closed the mailbox and walked back upstairs just as the BANG BANG BANG BANG!!! action started. The firecrackers she’d found from 4th of July a few weeks before reverberated unbelievably in the mailbox, bits of paper from them were in there for months, and- totally true story- the Springer-trash denizens of the HUD complex started running, a couple swearing “Shit! I felt a bullet go right past my motherfuckin’ head!”, and the party broke up for mortal fear of the fool on the hill shooting at them.
Sorry for the hijack. I agree with the OP though- I’m still hearing the damned things myself. Last year some kids through some in the apartment dumpster and set it on fire, and their she-yuppie mom of course reacted with a “what can you do? I’m just a single mom” attitude when the management tried to read her the riot act for having to call out the fire department and for residents parked close to said dumpster having to move their cars so they wouldn’t blow up, and I don’t live in a slummy apartment complex.