Ever. (And why I now refuse to work in them.)
In one class they rioted in a particularly egregious fashion, shouting and swearing at the top of their voices and pushing the furniture out of my room. One pupil puffed cigarette smoke in my face as my desk sailed out into the corridor. In the next few years of my career — though not at my current school, I hasten to add — my pupils turned the air blue with their swearing, dealt drugs under the table, chucked missiles out of the windows, set the bins alight, stole my stuff, put ripped cans underneath the fabric of my chair, threw sharp objects at me, criticised just about every aspect of my appearance, questioned me ruthlessly about my sexuality, locked me out of the room, ripped their work up in front of my face and refused to listen to anything I said.
You may be surprised that I actually haven’t found this misbehaviour the most appalling thing about teaching — after all, kids are kids, aren’t they? It’s getting the blame for their misbehaviour that really takes the biscuit.