I've been fired a  lot of times over the years.  Never because of the quality of my work, but usually because I run into somebody so ignorant that they push my patience beyond bearing.  A good case in point was William.  I'd been working for a place for about six months when William came to work as the manager. It was one of those places that could never keep a wrench or, a pair of pliers.  As fast as they'd get 'em in, in a couple of days they'd disappear.  So I started bringing my own tools to do little repair jobs.  And as with most bosses it was appreciated.
  One day when the boss was gone, I had just finished tightening up a bolt on one of the work tables, and was getting done.  I punched out, picked up my tools, and started out the door.  Suddenly William called out "Gerald!  You can't take those tools off the premises.  Put them in the toolbox."
  "They're not the company's tools," I told him, "they're mine.  They're all engraved with my social security number.  I've had them for years."
  "If they're on the premises," William answered, "they belong to the company.  You don't take them home with you.  Put them in the tool box!"
  "Frig you!"  I told him, and walked out the door.
  "Bring those tools back here!"  William screamed, "Or I'll call the police!  You're not stealing company property!"
  I went home and was relaxing when the phone rang.  It was my boss.  "Gerald," he remarked, between chuckles, "William just called.  He wants permission to call the sheriff.  He said you stole our tools. They were YOUR tools, right?"
  "Yes," I told him.  "That guy's definitely got some kind of problem!"
 "Well, don't worry about it," the boss continued, "I explained to him they're your tools.  He simply can't believe that someone's nice enough to bring their own tools.  We had a good laugh.  The next day I was right in the middle of working on something when I left for a minute.  When I came back the tools I had laid out were gone.
  "Where's my wrenches?" I asked.
  "William took them," the cook answered.
  I went into the office.  "Where's my wrenches?"  I asked.
  "In the tool box where they belong."  William answered, holding out a clipboard.  "From now on you have to sign them in and out and you don't take them off the premises again!  I won't have anyone treat me the way you treated me yesterday."  I picked up the keyring and headed for the storeroom.  "Hey!"  William screamed, "Give those back!  You don't take my keys!"  He ran after me and tried to grab me.  I'd had six inches on William and outweighed him by one-hundred pounds.  I simply threw him on the floor, much to the amusement of the hostess and waitress. I unlocked the toolbox, took out my wrenches, locked it back up, and threw the keys in William's face.  I went out to put my tools in the car.  While I was doing so the boss walked up.
  "Gerald," he remarked, "I'm sorry, but I've got to let you go.  I appreciate your work.  You've been awfully good here, but you can't manhandle the management.  You should have come to me.  I'd have gotten your tools back without a problem.
  "Fine with me!"  I told him.  "Sorry about that!  But I'm simply not going to put up with an ass like that.  He knew they were my tools.  He was just trying to show what authority he had."
  "I know!"  the boss answered, "I know.  But I can't have you throwing people on the floor."
  I had another job that afternoon and a couple of years passed.  I was working in another place, and had been for a year or so, when who should walk into the kitchen but William!  "You work here?"  he grunted.
  "Have for nearly a year!"  I answered.  "Use my own tools here, too."
  About a half hour later the boss came in.  "Gerald," he asked, "that fan housing is rattling again.  Did you get the stuff to fix it?"
  "Yes," I answered.  "I picked up the nuts and bolts last night.  I've got the change, and, the receipts.  I was trying to get this done first, but I'll get right on it." I went out to my car, got the nuts and bolts, and the wrenches I needed, and started back into the kitchen.  William blocked the door. "If those aren't company tools," he snapped, "don't bring them on the premises."
  "Get out of my way!"  I told him.
  "You're not bringing unauthorized equipment on the premises!"  William snapped.  "I'm a manager here now.  Things are going to be done properly."
  "Fine!"  I told him.  I put the stuff back in the car, found the boss, and told him what was going on.
  "He won't let you use your tools?"  the boss muttered.  "Go get them.  I'll take care of it." I was still in my truck when the boss came out the back door with William.  "Get out!"  the boss was screaming, "You're an idiot!  Get out of here!  I've got no use for you!  Get out!" William gave me a dirty look as he passed, got in his car, and drove off. "The f        ' idiot!"  the boss roared, "He wanted to know if you had the proper licenses to do that kind of work!  If you had a union card!  The damned moron.  What does he think this is, New York or Chicago?"
   I just shook my head.  I worked with William all of a week and thirty minutes.  The first time I got fired, the second time, however, the shoe was on the other foot.  Fortunately William was never management in any OTHER place I worked. He wore out his welcome around town in another year or so, and went back to wherever it was he came from, and they were more than welcome to him!