Memorable Ghosts of the Past

Uncannily my family has an incredibly long and bizarre legacy on all sides, of being jealously reproached by every kind of conspiring little fascist known to human history, thus there never was any question of the need for revenge. As my paternal grandfather always said, "If you can't get mad, at least try to get even". To give you an idea to what state of the art this hereditary talent has been nurtured over the generations, let me tell you this story of what my father did when his captain refused to give him a lousy 25 dollars for a ton of gravel to finish paving a back access road into the camp reserve:It was in Quebec, in the rural outskirts of St. Thérèse de Blainville, the middle of January. Quebec was always detestable for such incredible amounts of snowfall that your average bungalow was easily buried from sight. The futility of having to shovel your way out of the house for hours only for some massive snowblower to bury it again in a single passing...and that's not to mention icicles the size of airstrip pylons that required hacking off with a heavy spade, lest the damn things knock you dead when the sunlight hits that black asphalt shingle roof. Well, as far as that captain was concerned, there was no need to spend the taxpayers money when the camp had a gravel quarry of its' own. It didn't matter to him that the damn thing was frozen solid. "That's your problem, not mine" he said. He should have known better when my father broke into the biggest grin and headed straight to the munitions school, to collect any explosives that had passed their expirey date and needed disposal. There he found a whole case of aminol beginning to leak nitroglycerin, that the instructor was only too glad to have off of his hands. Loading it all into a sizeable dumptruck with one of his workmates, they then headed off to the quarry. Once there, he strategically placed the charges in that frozen mountain of gravel, while his mate backed the truck up against the embankment on the other side of it. Although the first attempt to set it off failed, my father dilligently reset the primers and gave it another go. Needless to say the terrific explosion was heard clear across the camp, as a huge lump of gravel sailed straight up into the air then landed perfectly in the dumpster. His mate, who all this time was huddled behind my father- scared utterly shitless, peered over with amazement at the well-aimed huge lump still rocking under the impact. No sooner the rocking stopped they headed off in the truck to complete the job. As they approached that back gate however, they were met by a whole entourage of emergency vehicles- whose authorities stopped them to ask where the explosion had possibly come from. "Explosion? Nah, I didn't hear anything- did you?" he asked his mate with a casual smile. "Nope" replied his mate, with a smirk, "musta bin a sonic boom or something..." Of course, once the posse buggered off in quest of the mystery disaster, my father unceremoniously dumped the great frozen lump in front of the gate. Needless to say when he returned and the captain asked if the matter had been sorted, my father replied cheesily, "Yes, and we left it right there where you wanted it" knowing full well the chaos that would unfold...that aside the fact that it was useless to the road crew until the spring thaw. Weeks later, when they all finally connected the dots on whodunnit, that captain was discretely advised to readily comply to any of my father's construction requirements, lest he wish to be held personally accountable for the hazards involved.