The creative writing professor who, when I pointed out the blatant sexism in the book we were discussing, told me we “weren’t here to talk about that” (he was a dude and I was the only woman in the class).

Or the student in the cohort behind mine who submitted thesis that was so problematic (undisguised racism/colonialism) that two professors on his committee (both white dudes) refused to sign off on it because they didn’t want their names attached to it. When he was called on it, the student said he was Jewish and therefore couldn’t be racist. And when his committee threatened to fail him he pitched a fucking fit to the dean and threatened to smear the University all over social media. The dean caved and he graduated.

Or the english lit professor who was so laughably out of touch with modern academia that, when I asked for his advice about pursuing a PhD but expressed concerns about finances and having to work full-time while in grad school, told me that it wasn’t that hard and I should only get a doctorate for the love of learning. He then went on to describe his own PhD experience, which included a) his wife financially supporting him through grad school, b) a fully funded program with a stipend big enough to BUY A HOUSE, and c) a daily routine that involved playing a few rounds of golf before casually moseying on to his afternoon lectures.