The worst thing about back to school is the WhatsApp group. #vortexfromhell (2024)

It begins with the high-pitched whine of a solitary mosquito. Then it’s two, then 10. And finally, you realise it’s not mosquitoes because you can’t crush the noise, and it won’t stop, no matter how many cans of insect spray you empty on it.

Then the realisation hits like a post-Christmas credit card bill: this dreadful din is indeed being generated by animals, but they’re higher up the food chain than mosquitoes. Worse still, they’ve spent the past few years breeding (as have you, to be fair) and now they’ve swarmed and taken up residence in your phone. In your children’s class WhatsApp groups, to be exact.

If your kid/s are older, you’ve probably already entered this vortex of online hell and by now are resigned to the grim fate that awaits you: month after diabolical month of well-meaning but idiotic questions and commentary from people you’d normally move hemispheres to avoid. If, on the other hand, your children are just starting their school careers, the full horrifying picture is not yet in view.

As such, the first (and also last) thing to understand is that finding yourself in one of these groups is a bit like going to sleep in your bed and accidentally waking up on a battlefield. In short, you have to take a position. Here are just some of the identities on offer:

WhatsApprentice: You really want to make a good impression, LOL, because little Cordelia-Quillia is raring to go to kindergarten. In fact, she’s been sleeping in her uniform every night for the past month, haha. The only problem is, you’re confused about what date school actually starts. Also, you know about the uniform and everything, but what should she actually wear on the first day … any chance it’ll be mufti? And while we’re on the subject, what are people putting in their kids’ sandwiches? Should you ring the office? And when does the canteen open? You’re sure you’ll get the hang of this schooling caper, LOL – it’s just so hard because you’re so new and everything is very confusing.

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WhatsApprehensive: Head slap. Eye roll emoji. Please, someone help. Your loveable rogue offspring, Barnaby Parker-Winthrup-Bottomley IV, has misplaced his boater again. It’s the fourth time he’s done it this week, the little scamp, and you really don’t want to buy another one because #hassle. So, even though it’s 6.30pm on a Thursday night and you know everyone’s probably sitting in peak-hour traffic/making dinner/wrangling toddlers with a whip and an upturned chair, you’d love for them to immediately drop everything to root through the swamp at the bottom of their kids’ schoolbags. Maybe someone took it home mistakenly. You lovingly embroidered Barnaby’s poly-hyphenated surname onto the brim over the summer, so it should be easy to spot.

WhatsAppropriate: Someone on the school gate said he or she heard the upcoming school camp is being held at a faith-based survivalist mountain retreat. Someone else says, “Excuse me, I might’ve enrolled my kid at a religious school, but I never signed up for that”. A third poster chimes in because everyone knows the world was made in seven days and what’s with all the deity-bashing anyway. Now the posts are getting salty. This upsets you. You liked it much better when WhatsApp was reserved for the pressing business of the school week, including the whereabouts of Barnaby Parker-Winthrup-Bottomley’s fourth boater or if the class teacher will actually come and burn your house down if you send your kid to school in the wrong-coloured hat. You don’t want to lecture, but you just wish everyone would behave themselves and be kind and do exactly what you say in your non-lecturing, Gandhi-esque post appealing for calm.

WhatsApparent: You have a burning question related to today’s uniform/excursion/crazy sock day. In truth, it’s been answered by at least six previous newsletters, along with that message your kid relayed from his teacher last night, as well as the special memo that was emailed across this morning. However, you didn’t get around to reading the newsletters, your kid might’ve been talking about someone else’s school, and who has time to read memos? Better to ask 120 people on WhatsApp. Surely, someone there will be able to tell you if by “socks” they mean “the things that go on your feet” (as opposed to, say, “sock puppets”) and by “crazy” they mean merely “fun and whimsical” or “deranged and talking in tongues”.

WhatsApparatchik: It’s no secret, LOL, because you tell everyone anyway: you love your kid’s school. Just the sight of that burgundy/royal blue/bottle-green livery on your car’s bumper sticker sends a wonderful bolt of dopamine tap-dancing through your prefrontal cortex. As such, you find yourself patrolling WhatsApp like an unpaid sentry guard. Someone’s complaining about a dud teacher? Your kid never had a problem. Entrenched culture of bullying? Pfft – building resistance! A stratospheric hike in the fees? Results cost, and anyway, your kid is building friendships for life. You can’t put a price on that. The days you spent in the year 5 classrooms there were among the happiest of your life. Hell, you’d re-enrol yourself for lessons in a hot second. Such a shame that they only let you volunteer for canteen duty/the car zone/reading with the kindy kids five days a week. You’d happily be there more often.

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WhatsAppreciative: You love WhatsApp. WhatsApp (specifically this WhatsApp group) is the best. It keeps you company. It knows all the answers to life’s big questions: Is Part B on the maths homework really optional? The stationery list says “ruler” – by that do they mean a short wooden thing or a PowerPoint slide featuring King Charles? Where, for the love of God, is Barnaby’s boater? Anyway, WhatsApp is awesome. It’s like talkback radio, with reproductive bits. Or an echo chamber, featuring your very own slightly shouty voice. Hey, maybe you should post something on WhatsApp, telling everyone how much you love them. For the eighth time this term.

WhatsApparition: You bred, and you’ve been stuck in the godawful purgatory of this school class WhatsApp group for what feels like forever. No one sees you because you never post. No one hears from you because you put the WhatsApp alerts on silent years ago, so you never respond to anything. Where is Barnaby’s boater? Your dog ate it, along with all three of its predecessors. Occasionally, you feel like coming out all bloody-eyed and terrifying to launch a blitz-style attack on the parents who annoy you most, but they’re impervious to criticism and indifferent to logic, so what would be the point? All of which brings us to the existential question you ask yourself, Samuel Beckett-style, every other day: what are you even doing in this WhatsApp group? You don’t know the answer. Is it Stockholm syndrome? Will it ever generate any useful information? Is death by stupid question on your kid’s school WhatsApp group even a thing?

Saddle up, partner, the school year is about to begin. Only 300 days to go.

Michelle Cazzulino is a semi-retired ex-tabloid journalist who belongs to an eye-watering number of school WhatsApp groups.

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