AITA for Shaming a Teacher and Getting Put in My Place?

Just yesterday, I attended a training session for “IXL,” a math program that’s pretty easy to navigate. But the day before, my wife suffered a serious ankle break—it was bad enough that it needed to be reset, followed by surgery. I spent the entire day by her side, but the next morning, while she was recovering, we had to decide if I should still attend the training. We talked about the financial impact of me missing more work, and although I took the day off when she got hurt, we both agreed I should go to the IXL training.

Depending on who you ask, I arrived at the session just in time—or maybe a few minutes late. I got myself set up, opened all the required websites, completed the AI welcome page on Padlet, and was already ahead of the material. Meanwhile, the room was filled with chatter as the presenter and district staff circulated.

Then I received a text from my mother-in-law, who was with my wife at the hospital. My wife, “Gina,” was worried about our finances. Her phone had sent her a payment alert, but it died before she could see the amount. So, I quickly logged into my account to check if we had enough to cover the deductible that hadn’t been collected yet. It took about twenty seconds.

Of course, this is when Miss Low Glasses decided to intervene. She aggressively poked my shoulder and said, “You need to pay attention to the screen!” I tried to explain, starting with, “Sorry, I was just—”

But she cut me off, practically yelling, “You need to get your priorities straight!!”

And that’s when I decided to comply—but on my terms.

I was both embarrassed and furious—her reaction was completely over the top, especially since the room was buzzing with unrelated chatter and I was dealing with something urgent. Her comment made me realize that I needed to get my priorities in order.

So, just as loudly, I responded, “You know what? You’re right. I DO need to get my priorities straight. My wife’s in the hospital! I’ll be leaving now.” And with that, I walked out.

Miss Low Glasses scoffed as I left, and the other district staff quickly pulled her aside for a chat. One of my buddies called out, “Love you, OP. It’ll all work out—text me.”

And that was the end of that.