Five Minutes, Then the Video Call Ends Itself

I understood the reasoning. A parent of twins on a forum in April 2026 remembered their first high-school parents’ evening in person: twenty appointments, three hours, nothing on schedule, the family splitting up to join different queues. Online, the same parent said, things started on time and they saw every teacher. Another liked being able to make tea, or keep an eye on dinner in the oven, between calls.

So I prepared. Our eldest’s maths teacher, 6.40pm, five minutes. I wrote nine questions on a card in descending order of importance and practised them against the oven timer. I could do all nine in four minutes ten, if nobody answered.

5:00. Connected. Teacher visible. Me visible, mostly forehead.

4:41. Pleasantries. I cut mine short. She did not know I was on a schedule.

3:58. She says he is doing well. I say thank you and move to question one.

2:30. She is answering question one in full, which I had not planned for.

1:12. I abandon questions four to nine and go straight to the big one: set two or set one, and what would it take.

0:19. She starts to answer.

0:00. The call ends. I am looking at my own face, mouth open, on a black background.

Other parents report the same. On a separate thread in March 2026 one said their school’s five-minute calls cut off mid-sentence, though they thought the system better and fairer overall. Another parent’s school puts up a projector showing a huge countdown clock, which beeps loudly at the end, and the teacher finishes the sentence and sends you on your way. In person, at least, you get the end of the sentence.

I had planned my five minutes the way other people plan a wedding speech, and the clock had planned it better. At 6.46 the school app sent a cheerful notification asking how I had found my appointments.

I gave it one star. I am still waiting to find out about set one.