Junior year high school English class. The teacher started making predictions on students’ future careers. Was pretty good. E.g., told one girl she was going to be a teacher and indeed she was in the “Future Teachers” (or whatever) club.
Came to me. She just burst out laughing. (I have a PhD and (co-)authored 40+ research papers.)
There isn’t much to say about my spanish teacher not liking me i can look at someone and she’ll yell at me to shut up. If i didn’t know spanish id think Callence was my name.
My fourth grade teacher called my mom because I corrected her once. After that day, she made me sit up front next to her desk, “since youre so smart and all”. She was wrong, and I wasnt being snotty about it at all. That came later.
Third semester in culinary school. My chef-instructor told me I was dragging my team down with my bad attitude. Oddly, my spiced stuffed tomato was the only thing he could taste when he had a cold for our finals.
When I was in seventh grade (aka “the year from hell”), I had a teacher who didn’t like me at all, in art class of all classes. One day a boy was acting up and waving around a paintbrush loaded with clear varnish, and he accidently stuck it in my hair. Without thinking, I said “Shit! What’d you do?” while trying to pull this sticky brush out of my hair. The teacher yelled at me in front of the entire class for a good five minutes for my foul language, and then would not allow me to go to the rest room to try to remove the brush from my hair. She told me I could just live with it for the rest of the period. So I left anyway and got the brush out of my hair and then went down to the principal’s office, since I couldn’t think of anything else to do. We actually had a pretty good talk – I was having a very rough time in school, and would continue to for the rest of that school year – and then I guess he talked to her, because she didn’t say anything about it when I went back to class the next time. But she was never nice to me, ever.
Ah, memories. I wouldn’t go back to junior high for truckload of diamonds.
As a college junior (28 years old, finally returning to do the college thing and doing well at it this time around after nearly a decade as a hippie vagabond) I took a speech class. I was actually trying to improve my enunciation and diction, but the “how to be a public speaker” focus of the class was useful to me, too. The professor, however, was a sour precise sarcastic person who felt it was entirely reasonable and appropriate to deliver heavily politicized diatribes and social commentary along with the curriculum, and from the moment he saw me sitting in his classroom it was a toss-up as to whether contempt or astonishment was going to win out as his reaction to me. He treated me as if I were a clever live forgery of a something of which only fossils and anecdotes should exist (i.e., my attitudes and beliefs about economics, politics, sexuality, morality, religion, etc).
When we were assigned to do a “speech to demonstrate”, I brought in a half-pint mason jar, some dried & crushed autumn leaves from the path outside, and various items easily found in a household or dorm room and proceded to demonstrate how to make a bong pipe, culminating with me lighting a bowlful of autumn leaves, toking a mouthful, and exhaling the cloud of smoke in front of the class.
He went absolutely apeshit ballistic with outrage and astonishment that I would think it appropriate to demonstrate something as immoral illegal and inappropriate on a college campus and how would I like it if the college president knew what I had done etc etc…
(heh heh heh… my dear ridiculous fuming fool, are you unaware that I am editor of the school paper? Have you no idea what I’ve already written about the validity of the college president’s opinions on the editorial page?)
The best one I had was in my final year of school, before I left for university. I’d just got my acceptance from Cambridge, and as such all the teachers were fairly excited about it. I overheard one teacher commenting to my former history teacher, “Angua got into Cambridge? She doesn’t look like she’s got the brains to get there.”
Hmmmm… You sad deprived woman.
When I was a High school junior I had an AP chemistry course in which I(and everybody else) absolutely despised. The course was a farce, absolutely everyone gave up on it. I got the point where I came to class 15 minutes late every single day. After which I took my seat directly in front of Ms. Smith, and promptly went to sleep. Despite the fact that I was the only one in the class that understood the material, despite the fact that I was the only one who had a glimmer of a chance at passing the ap test(and indeed I was the only one who did that year) and despite the fact that I was actually doing relatively well in the class she had me suspended for being late too many times(granted, I nearly broke the school record).
Looking back I don’t think I should have given her such a hard time. the Woman had problems, lots of them. I feel sorry for her, life gave her a lemon tree and it grew rotten lemons.
“Andy!” my fifth-grade teacher once yelled at a habitually-misbehaving student. “My husband’s getting jealous because I scream your name in my sleep!”
Didn’t happen to me, but it was one of the funniest educational moments I’ve ever witnessed.
I had a fourth grader who had a stereotypical Mexican accent: “I watch some bideos”, “I leave there”, “Teecherrrr”, etc.
He did the “Teacherrrr” thing for the 50th time, and I told him, “I hear you saying that as I go to sleep.”
Another kid looked up, amazed. “I do too!”
I was in first grade and remember sitting at my desk with the teacher (we’ll call her Mrs. Doodoo head) standing next to me. As I remember, the class was generally acting up (probably me too) and she yelled something and hauled off and slapped me on the face.
That afternoon my parents questioned me as to why I was so quiet and reserved. I told them the story and I’m sure they had words with the teacher. A few weeks later I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to and she leaned down and whispered, “you know, you’re no angel.”
My high school biology teacher hated me. The only possible reason I could ever come up with was that he knew that I knew he was an imbecile. One day I left class to go to the bathroom and while I was gone, he wrote “Elaine is too smart for her own good” on a piece of paper and had everyone in the class sign it.
Even though I was far and away the best student in the class, he gave me a “B” because I had a “bad attitude”. That “B” kept me from being valedictorian.
I hope he is roasting in hell.
My high school Latin teacher once told a student, “There are no stupid questions, but if there were, that would be one.”
I’m a high school teacher. The things I say to the students that I don’t particularly like are along the lines of “I know you can do this.” and “You’re smart enough; you need to do the work.” and “Your mother and I discussed this problem with your behavior.”
In 5th grade, my teacher called me fat,right to my face,on purpose
My third grade teacher made fun of me in front of the class when I gave him the note saying I wouldn’t be there the next day… because I was attending my grandmother’s funeral.
I had a teacher tell me “You’ll never amount to anything”- fifth grade, Benjamin Franklin School, Westfield NJ.
Another said “You stick out like a sore thumb” regarding me in Choir- Sixth grade in the same school, not the music teacher, my regular teacher.
I suspect that both teachers have died from old age and/or smoking by now (I know that the fifth grade teacher smoked, I walked in on her smoking in the classroom after school).
:eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek:
WHAT? No way! Was she demented, or just plain sick? Did anyone do anything about it?
I have nothing to add to this discussion, but I really want to know, is this a common thing now? Anal grades? I made it through school without ever receiving one, and I think it’s just as well.
When I was in the first grade we were given an assignment to write a story about an animal in the zoo. So I wrote about a Gnu.
My teacher told me I was stupid and gave me a zero for the project. She didn’t know what a Gnu was and thought that I had made it up.
::sigh::
Wow Wonko I vote at Benjamin Franklin Elementary. And I thought it was such a nice school too.
In junior high school Spanish class my teacher, on the first day, in front of the entire class, told me that I pronounced my German last name wrong. She was right–we use an Americanized version because it’s got a gutteral “r” and and o with an umlaut and no one would ever say it correctly anyway and that was the way I was taught to say it. So after 5 minutes of listening to her lecture me on the correct pronunciation of my name, I turned to my friend who spoke German at home and asked him if she was right. “No.” he said, “she doesn’t pronounce it right either.”
She never warmed up to me after that.