Unfiltered Story #46171

UK | Unfiltered

This was when I was around 4/5 and starting the new school year. I’m left-handed and hold my pen differently to how you “should.” It’s not a major difference, but enough to notice if you look for long enough. Up to this point my handwriting has been as expected of my age.

Teacher: [Name], you’re holding in your pen- oh, I see. You’re left-handed. No wonder your writing is always a mess.

The teacher then gives me this rubber grip to put on my pen which forces me to hold it the “correct” way. It causes extreme discomfort and cramping, and makes my writing nearly illegible. Despite my protests, the teacher refuses to let me write normally and my grades suffer, all the while blaming it on my handedness. I’m doing homework one night when I scream out in pain at a swelling on my finger, and my mum tells me to just stop using it. So I finish the homework without it and hand it in.

Teacher: *handing homework out* [Name], you’re writing has gotten so much better, for being left-handed! I told you it would work!

Me: I didn’t use the grip thing. My mum said if it’s hurting I’m not to use it anymore.

Teacher: In my classroom you will! How do you expect your handwriting to get better! *looking at my homework* This is awful.

She then lowers my grade right in front of me and continues for force me to use the grip, which ends up in my handwriting being worse during the day and better at night. This continues for another couple of years before I move to the older section of the school. I spend the entire summer holidays in fear of my new teacher forcing me to use the grip again that I start becoming sick the closer the days get, while in the end literally didn’t bat an eyelid.

Sadly that school wasn’t particularly good, and my past grades gave me a reputation for being bad at English, despite every additional tutor they forced on me saying there was nothing to improve upon. There was such a bias that no matter how hard I tried, I was given a lower score than everyone else. I was so happy when I left, and my English grades shot up when I moved onto secondary school, so thankfully my past didn’t haunt me forever.

I still have the swelling on my finger, but thankfully I never have to write like that witch wanted me to again. I honestly wish she would have just forced me to write right-handed. It would’ve been so much more bearable.

Unfiltered Story #46169

Wuhan, Hubei, China | Unfiltered

I am an American working for an English school in China. On of my classes is a small group of five and six year olds currently learning the language used in discussing food. They are also learning the foods: candy, burger, noodles, chicken, rice, pizza, eggs, bread, and cake. We are playing a game where I have set up the food flash cards in a grid on the floor. They toss a ball over their heads and on to a card and I ask them if they like said food. The students are all given English names when they enroll. One of my students is named, Orange. They have been here for a while now so they all know her name is a color and a fruit. One of the other students tosses the ball wildly and instead of Landon’s on the flashcards, it bounces harmlessly off of Orange’s head.

Me: “Do you like oranges?”

Student: *grinning* “Yes, I like oranges!”

[I]Cue laughter from the whole class.[\I]

Unfiltered Story #46168

UK | Unfiltered

((In my music class after we complete a topic we have a “free choice” lesson, that allows us to play whatever we want, and our teacher takes suggestions on what sheet music to have so we can learn our favourite songs, it’s normally pop songs or songs out of games, but I’ve always preferred TV show songs, so this is what happened when I asked for one))

Me: hey ((teacher)) for the next free choice lesson could you put the “gravity falls” theme in it?

Teacher: ((without even looking up)) no, another student asked and I looked at it, and it’s way to hard

Me: ((silently sits down on a piano near her and plays the small part of it I know))

Teacher: how long did it take to learn that? A month?

Me: dude, ((teacher)) can you PLEASE just out the song in?

Teacher: ((suddenly yelling)) I SAID NO

Me: ((wordlessly sits back down))

Unfiltered Story #46166

CA, USA | Unfiltered

Several years ago, I worked at a private university. Two days a week, I worked a 2:00-10:30PM shift, which covers supporting the evening classes and locking up at night. After 6:00PM, all the other offices close, with the exception of the cafe which closes at 8:00PM, but I don’t work with them very much. Essentially, from 6:00 to about 9:30 when classes start finishing up, I’m alone at the front desk. Unless a class needs assistance, I generally don’t have too much to do during this time. It’s a little boring, but not too bad. One night, around 7:00PM or so, a middle-aged male, a student, approaches me to ask a question about the computer lab. After I answer his questions, he comments on the locket I’m wearing, saying he’d given one just like it to his ex-fiancee. This leads him into a very… very long talk about her, how he’d gone back to school for her, how she cheated on him and asking my opinion or what I think during his story.

I’m a little uncomfortable but he seems kind of sad and like he could really use a vent, so, since I’m currently not working on anything, let him go on for a while. At one point, though, I have to send a fax… so he follows me to send it. The area I’m in is open to students so I have no reason to ask him to leave. It’s getting a little odd and I’m relieved when at 9:30 (a good TWO hours) later, rosters start pouring in so he leaves me to do my work.

Over the next few weeks, he stops by to chat whenever I’m alone and appear not busy with something (which can be often, especially on a Saturday with no classes scheduled). He’s still not quite pinging on my creep-o-meter and I’m, unfortunately, far too nice too tell him to stop bothering me.

At some point, he starts dating another woman, which apparently doesn’t last and he admits to sometimes swinging by her work to try and get her to talk to him. I find it a little disturbing he’s basically stalking her but assume I don’t have all the information and maybe it’s not as bad as he’s making it sound….

Until one day, he comes up to my desk, giggling about something, and shows me an email he sent to her work address. In it, he pretends to be a Mexican woman who took one of her cooking classes and wanted to offer her some ‘friendly advice’ for ‘being so kind’. It basically somewhat subtly hints she should reach out to people who love her and forgive them or something. I quickly make an excuse to leave the desk and go hide out in advising. I explain the situation to one of them and she tells me to inform the security guard. I have to make sure he’s not still at the desk (the security office is behind it) and then run over to get inside. The guard is on the phone so I wait quietly and can see on the cameras, this guy coming back to the front and craning his head to look back in the advising office, apparently looking for me.

After some investigating, it turned out the guy wasn’t even a current student anymore. He was just coming in to use the student lab and eat at the cafe. He was asked to leave and was banned from the campus.

Unfiltered Story #46164

Wellington, New Zealand | Unfiltered

(In this class, the lecturer is American, while the vast majority of the class are New Zealanders. We are about to begin discussing Sweden.)

Lecturer: Ah, Sweden! The country that gave us ABBA and IKEA…

(Blank looks on students’ faces since IKEA doesn’t exist in New Zealand)

Lecturer (realising her mistake): Not here!

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