As a quick note, children in Flanders usually grow up speaking Dutch, start learning French in 5th grade, and then English in what is called 7th grade in the USA. So learning languages is a very common thing.
I teach English as a second language, and usually dealing with student is not the hardest part of my career… It’s the parents.
I have one student who’s not putting any work into any of his classes, and his scores reflect his bad work ethic. The kid is more concerned with his phone than his books and can’t wait to get out of school to do anything else but study or make his homework. As it’s his second year of secondary education but still early in the year all of his teachers, including me, decide to call a parent teacher conference to talk about why it’s going wrong and how everyone can work together to improve the situation. Sometimes there’s mental blocks like dyslexia that hadn’t been caught yet, etc.
Everyone frees up an evening and parents are invited in. The kid is lounging in the hallways waiting for the meeting to start. Except an hour after the scheduled time, no one has shown up. Not even to collect the kid who just shrugs when we ask him about it. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care. Just as we’re all getting ready to call it quits and figure out how to get the kid home, his mother bustles in with an arm load of shopping bags and a whole helping of attitude.
It does not get any better.
Everything, from his inability to concentrate to his unmade homework is our fault. We should be moving heaven and earth to guide her darling boy instead of asking him to do anything.
And then she turns her wrath on me, his English teacher, and his poor French teacher. We are apparently the worst of the bunch. Asking way too much from him and confusing everyone with our strange and useless languages. For example, we write our schedules and diaries in out respective languages instead of Dutch. So of course he cannot make his homework, he can’t understand the instructions. That the “instructions” are page numbers and exercise numbers and verbs he learnt months ago does not matter. We’re abusing her child mentally and if we don’t stop she’ll contact the board.
Of course, her angel was smirking the whole way through the meeting and tapping away on his cellphone.
What a fun way to start the new year. Somehow I don’t think the kid is going to last.

(Me and my friend are bored so we decide to play hangman. Note: that I’m an usually considered the smart one, her… not so much. But I guess for some reason my brain is turned off today)

Friend: “okay come on this word isn’t that hard and you’re already about to lose”

Me: “yeah i know. I just don’t know what letters to guess”

Friend: “how about a vowel?”

Me: “but didn’t i already do all of the vowels? I did a, e, i, u. Wait I know there is another one. That sounds weird.”

Friend: “are you serious right now”

Me: “seriously i have no idea. A, e, i, u. Hmm… Y? Does that count.”

Friend: …

Me: “Oh my god what is it”

Friend: *stares at me* “exactly. what did you just say”

Me: “oh my god? Oh… oh! O I forgot about that letter!”

Friend: “wow okay…”

Me: “a e i o u!!”

Friend: “chill you still need like five more letters”

A few years ago my son’s small charter high school asked parents to host a staff appreciation lunch.
I happily dropped off a crockpot with meatballs cooked in barbecue sauce. When I went to pick it up, a staff member brought the crockpot to me, took the lid off and proudly said: “Look! We cleaned it and everything for you!” I said “Thank you very much, I love you guys!” and left.
I had used a liner. All they had to do was lift it out and throw it away! I’m still laughing about it.

(This was when I was 10 years old, so about 2010. We had two Curr dog hounds. Both siblings, one was in the bedroom with my mother and I was in the living room with my father, at about 7:00 pm, when he had his back turned to pick it barbies up I went to the dog. He was abused but he had recovered well, so I kissed his nose. Well big mistake.)

Me: “Ah!”

(I pulled back quick, thinking I avoided a bite, except dad turned and his eyes widen. Without a word, he ran to the bathroom and placed a cloth on my mouth. That’s when I felt the blood, he did get me.)

Dad: “[moms name]!” *he grabs my arm and drags me with him as I was still dazed and confused* “[moms name]! The dog f*****g bit her!”

(At that mom saw my face and pulled the cloth away and her face paled, she rushed to change and my grandma came out. I realize we are going to the hospital. So I keep saying no hospital. I was deathly afraid of needles upon that point and doctors. We load up in the car, and dad breaks records to get us there. He rushed us in, and mom filled the paperwork in, asking how I was feeling and if I’m hurting, soon we are called back, they check my vitals and here’s the kicker, the pain.)

Nurse: “So Hun, your blood pressure is good, now see this chart?” *He points to many smiling faces, all ranging from 1 to 10* “Where is your pain at?”

(At that point I wasn’t allowed to talk, so I point to the two, his face looked confused.)

Nurse: “Are.,.are you positive?” *I nod my head as he left soon to return to us and take us to a room*

(My dad began to make jokes and make me laugh, mom kept hitting his arm to stop him from making my bite worse. She was worried I’d lose my lip. Soon a doctor came in.)

Doctor: “Hi sweetie, I’m your doctor. So I hear a dog bit you?” *i nod as she goes over and removed the cloth and grimaced.) “Oh hun, he sure did! Well I think I can Stitch this up night problem, now I know you feel nothing but I will still numb it, don’t flinch okay?”

(I nod and as she stuck the needle in—I flinch. I had to have my head held down by another nurse as I cry a bit.)

Me: “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

(She soon calmed me down and stitched me up, a total of 27 stitches were placed on top of and inside my mouth, she told me no hard foods, soft foods and no direct sunlight for a few weeks to a month. I agreed. The next morning animal control came out and wanted to take him, we fought against it and kept our dog against moms wishes, but I never did get near his face again except when we had to put him down in 2017. I do have a nasty scar on my lip as a reminder though, people believe I have a cleft lip because of it but I know the real cause.)

(I’m on the bus, on my way home. I see my stop coming up and push the button, only for the bus to whoosh past. Keep in mind, I’m the only passenger standing and I’m by the back door, and the automated STOP REQUESTED sign is blinking. Well, there’s another stop on the next street, not too far of a walk and the driver might be having an off day, so I push the button again. The bus stops and I go to push the doors open, but the bus starts pulling forward!)

Me: “Hey, stop, I want to get off!”

(The driver stops the bus.)

Driver: “Miss, there is no need to shout.”

Me: “You missed my stop. I want to get off. I pushed the button. Open the doors please.”

Driver: *not opening the doors* “There is no need to shout like that. Why are you shouting?”

Me: “Please let me off the bus.”

Driver: *still not opening the doors* “Why are you shouting? There is no need to shout.”

Me: “LET ME OFF THE BUS!”

(He opens the doors and I get off. Sadly, I didn’t get the bus number before he zoomed away, so I couldn’t report him, but I haven’t seen him on the route since, thankfully. And no, none of the other passengers spoke up or even paid attention to me.)