Aren't teachers supposed to be nice and encouraging to their students? After all, they're teaching the next future leaders of the world. However, some teachers don't seem to like kids very much. Which begs the question- why did they become teachers in the first place? These stories here prove some teachers may have chosen the wrong career path.
People on Reddit and Quora share the meanest thing their teacher ever did to them. Content has been edited for clarity.
“Within A Second, He Realized What He Said”
“In high school, I had a girl in my class that lived with her aunt because her mother died and her father worked offshore. So one day she forgot her math book which she left at her father’s place when he was home.
The teacher got mad and yelled, ‘I don’t care if you left your stuff at your father’s or your mother’s place! You’re supposed to have it!’
Within a second he realized what he had said, but it was too late as she was already storming out the classroom crying.”
“Messed Me Up For A Long Time”
“I was 13 and in 7th grade. My homeroom teacher was Mr. Baker. I lived in a neighborhood a few blocks away from a park and I was finally old enough to get to walk there myself. I was overweight and I had started walking there almost every day. I would walk the track for hours and then walk back home. I was really proud of myself for working so hard, and was excited to see the results.
One day during free period he called out my name. In front of my entire homeroom, kids I’d known my whole life plus a few new people, he told me that he had seen me walking down the road. Laughing now, he said that he to wait ten minutes for me to move out of the way because I was blocking half the road. Most of the class laughed with him. I had to sit there, holding everything in until the bell rang.
Then I went to the bathroom and sobbed. I never walked to the park again. I was afraid to leave my house for a really long time. That was so uncool and messed me up for a long time. People really suck for absolutely no reason and it’s just a thing we have to accept and I hate it.”
He Had It Coming
“I remember sophomore year of high school, we had this seriously obnoxious kid who annoyed us every day. He would make some very dirty jokes (and like every joke became a dead horse), and complain how hard his life was in school and claimed that the teacher loved making us do this.
Our teacher had enough one day and snapped. He looks at him dead in the eye and yelled, ‘You don’t know what kind of things I have put up with you little brat!’
To give clarification, this teacher has had many years of teaching experience, was a US army ranger, and was an EMT. Very nice and friendly individual who could be lenient. He also taught both algebra classes, AP physics, and an AP Calculus course.
That kid only did three things: Eat, smoked weed, and played video games. He’s been arrested three times now.”
“I Was Mortified And Immediately Apologized”
“I was a first-year high school teacher teaching a subject I loved, but I was honestly in over my head. The kids were pretty understanding about my inexperience, and I had a sarcastic, self-deprecating sense of humor that they seemed to enjoy.
I borrowed a lab room one lay. The pull-down screen in that room had a rope cord tied to the handle for raising and lowering it. As I finished explaining a new concept (I teach chemistry and we were using some tricky math that day) and set the kids to practice, I raised the screen and saw that someone in another period had tied the cord into a noose. And so I, the so-called responsible adult in a room of 17-year-olds, said:
‘And here’s a noose for you, in case you want to kill yourself after all that.’
Most of the kids laughed, but I was mortified and immediately apologized. Almost a decade later I’m still friendly with some students who were in that period and they won’t let me live it down. One of them tells me that’s the moment I became her favorite teacher.
Thank GOD no one reported me to the principal, but they would have been absolutely right to do so.”
But This Was The First Time It Happened
“It was a normal school day, and I had English class during my 6th period. I always hated going to her class (due to her horrible personality). On that particular day, we were taking a test (I think it’s from the novel we were reading in class).
Sometime later I had finished the test and turned it in. After the test, you were to work on the next assignment. Some students were still working on the test.
At this point, I did not know how much time I had to do the assignment assigned after the test (since I wasn’t wearing a watch that day and I can’t recall if there was a clock in the classroom). So I decided to pull my phone out from my front pocket to check the time (this takes literally less than a second and I thought it wouldn’t be a problem)
But it was too late.
‘Joyce, give me your phone,’ the teacher said.
I was frustrated. I kindly told her I was only checking the time and not actually using it. She still ordered me to bring it to her. I got up from my seat and I was apprehensive in handing it over but I did it.
Fast forward to the bell ringing. I had finished my work and I went up to her and kindly asked if I can get my phone back. (There were still students in the classroom)
And no, instead of saying ‘Okay, just make sure not to have it out next time,’ she said what I consider the worst I have heard from any of my teachers and it hurt my feelings badly.
I can’t recall her exact words but it was something along the lines like ‘NO, You can get it back at the end of the day at the guidance office. This isn’t the first time you have done this and since you don’t seem to understand, this is how you will learn your lesson.’
I was shocked and I was sobbing. All of my face was covered in tears. I had never been reprimanded in that manner especially in front of my classmates.
To make matters even worse, what she said made absolutely no sense. I had NEVER been nagged by the teacher about cell phone usage prior to this incident and I actually have NEVER had ANY warnings or issues with ANY of my teachers. So basically I was like the perfect student. And if this teacher had a problem with me, she should have been smarter and pull me aside like in the hallway to talk about it.
I left the classroom sobbing and upset at the same time, not because my phone was taken away but because of how awful she talked to me.
I don’t know what happened after I left but I believe that she did in fact hand it over to the counselor. To my surprise, an administrator (not the counselor) had actually come into my 7th period and handed the phone to my teacher.
At the end of the period, my teacher had walked up to me and told me the words I wish my English teacher would have said
‘Make sure you don’t have it out next time.; She handed my phone to me.
I will never forgive that teacher for this incident.”
“Never Expected It From Him”
“I had a religion teacher in high school named Mr. Nguyen, who was working on becoming a Jesuit priest and was a really cool guy. He always had a smile on his face and did his best to make the class a fun experience for everyone.
There was a kid in my class who was a really annoying smart kid, but Mr. Nguyen was always really patient with him, until one day he pushed him too far. I forgot exactly what the kid said, but it definitely crossed the line.
Mr. Nguyen slammed his fists on his desk and shouted, ‘Why can’t you EVER shut the heck up!’
He then picked up his stapler and chucked it at the kid, missing his head by a few inches and leaving a huge dent in the wall and then stormed out into the hallway.
I had never seen a teacher blow up like that and I definitely never expected it from him.”
Can’t Say That To Children
“In 5th grade, my friend and I were messing around during a D.A.R.E. song we had to practice singing in front of a bunch of parents or something.
The music teacher yelled ‘Hold on, freaking STOP!’
He then looked to my friend and me, and essentially threatened to haul our butts off the stage and beat us. We thought it was pretty funny actually, but we did stop messing around after that.
So the next morning as we walk into the school, we both get called to some office. In the office, each one of us who witnessed the teacher saying that had to be called in one at a time. When it was my turn to go in, they told me that a student had told their parents, and the parents got really upset and demanded something be done about it. They just asked me to tell them exactly what he said and to answer some yes or no questions.
I actually felt bad for the teacher while I was being questioned, and I said at one point, ‘You’re not going to fire him right? We made him mad by messing around, it wasn’t really his fault.’
They told me to just keep answering questions
Saw him later that day packing his things. I realize in hindsight you can’t lose your temper with children like that but I still kinda feel guilty about getting him fired like that.”
What Was The Point Of This?
“One day in sixth grade, I came back to my classroom from lunch earlier than most kids. I sat down in my desk, and maybe I was jittery or singing a song I’d heard on the radio that morning. The subject was math, and I was clearly not focused on math, that’s for sure. The teacher was Mrs. Northington, and she knew that I didn’t like her class, and probably felt that it was likely her fault.
Seeing that I was restless, she made me stand up beside my desk and dance. I had no idea why. I really was just minding my own business, all alone, and trying to chill before math class began. But nevertheless, she insisted that I dance. So I did. I asked her if she could provide some music while I danced, but she said, no, just keep dancing. So I did. I was not a disobedient kid. Probably stubborn and self-absorbed, but never disobedient.
I still didn’t understand why she wanted me to dance like that next to my desk. After some time, and as other students arrived and teachers started looking in and wondering the same thing I was… why is Mrs. Northington making this poor kid dance, and without music, at that… I asked her if I could stop now, but NO I had to keep going. I smiled at the passersby and raised my hands as if clueless about why I was dancing.
The bell rang, and she finally said, you can stop now, so I did.
The whole humiliation of course distracted me so much that I did absolutely nothing for the rest of the class. Just sat there, more cocooned than ever. When I got home that afternoon, I told my mom about it, and she went to the school the very next day and blasted Mrs. Northington in front of the principal.”
Passing Out Is No Excuse
“It was fourth grade, and I was about 9 years old, 1970 something.
My teacher’s name was Ms. Hunt. She was known for being ‘mean’ by us students and not one of my friends wanted to be assigned to her class.
For the theatrical project of the year, I was one of two narrators, so we played a major part in the production and had many lines to transition the play from one scene to the next.
My counterpart (we will call ‘William’) and I were called out of class in the mornings to practice our roles before practicing along with the other cast members in full production. We would practice with Ms. R., a more thoughtful and attentive teacher, in a small unused reading room down the hall from our classroom.
As narrators, we had to stand during the entire production, which lasted a little more than an hour in its entirety.
One morning while William and I were practicing our lines, my back suddenly began to hurt, pain increasing as I tried to continue. I began to feel dizzy. The next thing I remember was a black shadow closing in and wrapping around me like a dark blanket covering my eyes from my right and left sides. Down I went, out cold.
I learned later that when standing for long periods of time, one should not lock their knees, as this somehow affects blood flow or something to that effect, and can cause fainting. So Ms. R picked me up and I regained consciousness. I was scared and didn’t know what happened or why.
She took me back to Ms. Hunt’s class and called her out of the classroom to tell her what happened and discuss what to do. Ms. R asked me if I had eaten breakfast. I said had not.
Ms. H told me to go to my seat, so I did, feeling happy to finally sit down. I felt weak and very tired. Maybe low blood sugar played a part in the incident as well, as since then I’ve learned what hypoglycemia feels like.
The class resumed the reading assignment they were working on before I returned to class, each student taking their turn reading out loud going down the row. I had my head down trying to recover and feeling embarrassed by causing the disruption in class. When the student in front of me finished reading, I surely thought Ms. H would skip me and call on the next student behind me to pick up where the previous student left off.
To my surprise, she called on me to read. If that wasn’t bad enough, she announced to the class that I wasn’t ‘excused from reading just because I passed out.’
The school never informed my parents of the incident and nothing more was said or done about it. No report, no school nurse, no call to my parents.
If I had been Ms. H, I would have at least given a child something from the cafeteria and allow the student to rest instead of making him or her participate in the reading assignment. But this was a different time, different practices, and school policies (or lack thereof). Capital punishment was still legal in school, and getting a paddling for talking in class was just a day in the life.
I still remember Ms. H’s face. She never seemed to smile. Her bright red, tightly curled hair and her A-lined dresses, buttoned up to her neck made her all the more unapproachable. She looked like she didn’t want to be there. Maybe teaching wasn’t her calling in life.”
That’s Uncomfortable
“The teacher was using an example to illustrate a concept. He was a very nice, bubbly man, we all liked him.
He points at a random student and says: ‘For example, Bob, imagine you’re adopted-‘
About half the class cringed as they knew what Bob was about to say: ‘Um, I am adopted.’
You could see the gears turning in the poor teacher’s mind; Oh my god no, I can’t say sorry because that implies that being adopted is bad, oh my god.
The silence was palpable as he tried to think of something to say, he eventually just turned to another kid “….are you adopted?’
‘No,’ the student said.
‘Ok so, imagine Steven is adopted-‘
Poor guy.”
They Didn’t Even Ask His Side Of The Story
“My school was very sub-teacher friendly. If a sub gave a standard punishment, the school doubled it.
So my best friend and I were in science class with our sub, the class went well, we all did the things we were supposed to do. At the end of class, I noticed two beakers that hadn’t been put away. One was a small 10ml plastic beaker, the other was a 360ml glass beaker. We were sitting at the side of the classroom, and the sides are where the counters are as opposed to the center of the class where desks are. The counters have little cubbies underneath.
Because he was my best friend, I knew that if I filled the 10ml plastic beaker up with water and placed it in front of where he was going to sit, he would pick it up and splash it at me since it was such a small amount. Planning ahead, I filled the glass beaker up and placed it in my cubbie.
He came and sat down right before class ended, and sure enough as the bell was ringing, looked at the plastic beaker with water in it, picked it up, immediately smiled and splashed me with it. It was barely more than a few drops. I immediately pulled out my much more filled glass beaker and smiled back. He took off running towards the door. I took the other exit out with was much less congested and was waiting for him as he came out the other entrance. It was stupid of me to take a glass beaker into the hallway, I admit.
Anyway, I was waiting for him and as soon as he came out I splashed the water at him- however, he reacted and slapped the glass beaker out of my outstretched hand, causing it to shatter all over the ground with a bunch of people walking around.
One person who caught a glimpse of the beaker shattering on the floor decided to tell the first teacher who came that I threw the entire beaker at my friend, who then got it into his head my best friend and I were in a fight, which he then told the other teachers.
No one even asked me what happened. I was suspended for two days because of that since we had a sub.
When my actual science teacher came back, he gave a five-minute lecture on safety. At the end of the class looked me dead in the eyes and raised his voice to just below a shout and repeatedly called me stupid while the entire class was dead silent listening in their seats.”
Why On Earth Would She Say That?
“I was in fifth grade, and that morning before I got on the bus to school, I got in a fight with my parents. I don’t remember what it was about, probably something stupid. But I started crying because I tended to cry a lot as a kid. Even now, I tend to well up at the slightest bit of confrontation.
I was still a little broken up about it, so I went to the guidance counselor around lunchtime to talk about it. Initially, she seemed very understanding and sweet about it, listening to what happened. She asked if I wanted her to call my parents and talk with them. I said sure, because why not?
She proceeded to call them in another room. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about.
Five minutes later she comes out saying, ‘Your parents are so proud of you for coming here, and talking to me, like an adult!’
She had the biggest smile on her face, and for the rest of the day, I was so happy! My parents thought I was mature! They weren’t mad anymore!
I come home to my parents standing on the front porch with their arms crossed, an angry look on both of their faces. I’m utterly confused as to why, as the counselor had said they weren’t mad anymore?
To my utter shock, my parents are furious. Apparently, this lady had called my parents and told them that I told her they were abusing me. What in the world?
My parents were fuming and were so upset that I had told a certified professional that they were ‘abusing’ me. Of course, none of this had ever come out of my mouth when I was talking to her. All I had freaking said was that I had an argument with my parents! They were so afraid I was going to be taken away from them, rightfully so.
I protested, and told them I had never told her that, and tried to explain what happened. All while being utterly shocked and confused. Why did she lie? Of course, my parents didn’t believe me. I mean, would you? If you had to trust the word of a child against a certified professional in gauging who lied?
Thankfully, I never got taken away from my parents, and nothing really happened. But to this day, my parents still get angry when they are reminded of what ‘happened.’ It utterly destroyed the trust between us, and it took years to mend the wound.
I spent months hating that lady, and avoiding her like the plague until I graduated from elementary school, and didn’t have to see her anymore. I just don’t understand why she would lie? Why would she do that? It makes me mad to this day.
Before this story, I also went to her because I was being bullied. She listened to me but did absolutely nothing, and the bullying kept going on. All she did was try to ‘talk’ to the bullies, which, of course, just made the bullying worse because I had ‘snitched.’
Needless to say, she was absolutely the worst school professional I had ever met in my life, and I hope she got fired before she had the chance to lie and nearly destroy another family dynamic.”
She Should Not Be A Teacher
“My second-grade teacher was widely known and hated throughout the school. She also happened to be a native Californian whose family had lived in Gilroy for many generations.
At that age, and for a long while after, my mom used to make me traditional Indian food (rice, vegetables, etc) during the day, put it in a Thermos and leave it for me in the office. When I picked it up at noon, it would be warm and fresh. The only problem was that the office was a good five-minute walk from where our class ate lunch, a bench right outside the classroom.
We had only 20 minutes to eat lunch, after which we were released onto the playground. If I went to get my food after the bell rang, I would lose half of that time just walking to the office and back. So, after bucking up a lot of courage and a long pep talk from my mom, I raised my hand five minutes before the lunch bell and asked if I could start walking to the office early.
My teacher was livid. Not because I wanted to leave early— I had already finished my work— but because she was angry that my mom made lunch for me.’
‘You are eight years old! You should be making your own food. Why is your mom making food for you still? Are you a baby?’ my teacher yelled.
Never mind that I was still six at the time and that half the class did the same thing as me— their mothers just had the time to park the car, walk into the school and place their kids’ lunch right outside the classroom door or hand it right to them.
I tried to explain that I don’t just eat sandwiches and chips for lunch, that it was near impossible for me to cook my own Indian food in the morning and pack it before I left for school. She got mad that I was talking back to her.
That incident led to two unfortunate things:
My teacher now hated me, which led to over five trips to the principal’s office over the course of the year.
The rest of the kids were now hyper-aware that I didn’t bring “normal food” to school and I was teased mercilessly for it.
I always wondered why teachers who hate kids still stay with their jobs.”