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In 7th grade, my school hired Caitlin Moore, a new gym teacher straight out of college. She could often be oversensitive and volatile. She routinely overreacted to anything, especially things that infringed on her authority. She wasn't there to teach us anything. I don't think she gave a hoot in hell about us.The teacher refused to enforce any kind of order and would not start class activities until she had our full attention. The problem was that there were a handful of people that never calmed down or gave the teacher their attention so she could give directions. She didn't care, so she just sat and waited and texted people on her phone forever and let the handful of delinquents run the show because she got paid either way. This resulted in the majority of the class being very bored and being required to waste valuable time so that the jerks could be jerks and do their jerk activities for as long as they pleased at our expense.Well, one day I'd had enough of this. I had previously tried to get Ms. Moore to enforce order but to no avail. I took control and tried to organize the idle students into some sort of game of something, anything to alleviate the boredom. Many of they agreed with me but before we could even form teams, Ms. Moore shut us down. Her response was a swift and solid yell at me that went something along the lines of, "Excuse me! I am the teacher here! If you don't like how I run this class, go to the office!"So I did. I said, “alright, I will," in my best courageous but coolly defiant tone, turned around and marched out, trying to keep my dignity intact with as short pause at the door and glance over my shoulder at my peers.I went to the office and turned myself in and then filled out a detention report form. They staff was a bit bewildered why I was there and frankly, so was I. The principal went and asked Ms. Moore what had transpired and then returned and handed me ANOTHER detention report form. The first charges were disrespecting a teacher. I could live with that, she deserved it. But the real kicker was the additional charges of leaving class without permission. I guess she lied to the principal because I know I heard her say that I could go to the office. So I got double detention for doing what she said I could.Edit: People, why do you keep upvoting this one? I've written some much better answers, but this one is consistently more popular. I don't get it.

While working in higher education, part of my job was to adjudicate hearings related to violations of the university’s conduct policies. One particular student had broken pretty much every rule in the book and was a frequent visitor to the student judicial process. Students could choose to have me hear their case solo or to schedule a board hearing. This student consistently chose for just me to hear her latest exploit. We had scheduled an office hearing. I knew, in advance, it was likely she would be expelled as a result of her latest infraction.The night before the hearing, Thursday, January 26, 1989, the 11 p.m. news opened with breaking news of a car-train accident in a town near the campus. Two people had been killed. The station that I was watching did not announce the names. One of my former student staff members lived, and was doing student teaching, in that town. This person was more than just a staff member to me. We had become good friends. That previous May she had ridden to Florida with me when I went to visit my family. It was the first time she had seen the ocean. In many ways, I was her big sister. But she didn’t drive and was student teaching so she wouldn’t be out that late. Or so I thought…Within minutes of the news starting, there was a knock at my door. All of the RAs whom I supervised and several other staff were there. Apparently the channel they watched had given a name. The last name was right, but the first one wasn’t. Could our friend have been the woman killed in that accident? With a huddle of college students around me, I began calling around. I was finally able to talk with someone in the small town’s police department. “I hope that you can help me. I’m trying to get the names of the people killed in the train accident.” The person on the other end stammered. I barreled through. “Was it Cheriti and Terry Riggs?” The voice on the other end again stammered and then said, “Yes.” I quietly said thank you, started crying, and collapsed as I hung up the phone. The seven young ladies in my apartment immediately knew.In addition to the deaths of Cheriti and her brother, their younger sister had been hospitalized. Within minutes these young ladies wanted to go to Cheriti’s parents, to offer support. We found out what hospital she was in, and these same ladies told me in no uncertain terms that I was not driving (we were really taking care of each other). I handed over the keys and we took two cars, in the middle of the night, to see the parents of our friend.It took an hour and a half to get to the hospital (we didn’t know where it was; this was pre-navigation devices). Cheriti’s mother came out to the lobby and was almost overcome with emotion when she saw all of the young ladies and me. She asked if I would be able to go to their home and be there to receive things that she had already heard people were bringing there. I agreed.It was around 3 a.m. when we got back to campus. Along the way we stopped at an all night diner and the girls got coffee. I took all the girls into my office and wrote a note for each student, explaining the situation and asking their professors to excuse them from any tests, etc. I called my boss, woke him up, and between gulps and sobs told him what had happened and that I was taking leave until after the funeral. I thought little about my appointments the next day.When I returned to my office, I rather quickly read through the materials informing her of her rights, etc. She initialed the form. I read the report. I asked her if she had anything to add and if it was accurate. She responded that she didn’t and could we get this the “F” over? With that, I declared her “responsible” for the reported violations of university policy. I informed her that I would be recommending to the Vice President of Student Affairs that she be expelled from the University and that she would be given a copy of that recommendation and would then have 24 hours to either move out of the residence halls or to file a formal appeal. I told her it was unlikely that I would be able to get the report filed until Monday or Tuesday. This kid had been through the hearing process enough to know this delay was unusual. I told her that any disruptions, etc. prior to that would be dealt with, if necessary by campus police and she may be subject to arrest. I had the student sign and initial everything. The entire process took less than ten minutes. I handed things over to the staff member/witness and asked her if she would take care of doing the paper work and I would sign it when I got back. With that the little miscreant could not keep her mouth shut. “Just where the F are you going? You can’t just expel me and run off. Why should I have to wait until GD Tuesday to get to appeal? Maybe you don’t want to do your job, but I want this sh** done and you’re going to do it.” Again that self satisfied grin was spread across her face.What she didn’t realize was that tired didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. I had had it. I got up and pointed to the door of my office. I can almost remember verbatim what I said. “Get your ass out of my office right now. I have things to do and should have been doing them a half an hour ago, but you decided to be an ass about this hearing so I did it. But now, we are done. As to where I am going, that is none of your GD business, but let me tell you. Last night, probably about the time your blood alcohol passed the intoxicated level, seven of us were at the hospital seeing Cheriti Rigg’s mother. (This student had known Cheriti.) Maybe you didn’t hear. Cheriti and her brother were killed last night when a train hit their car. So, not that it is any of your pathetic business, but I am going out to her home to be there for her mother in case people start to bring stuff to the house. Mrs. Riggs is at the hospital with Cheriti’s little sister. I will get around to the paper work to expel you after my friend is buried but for now, I have things to do and you need to get the hell out of here.” There were tears rolling down my face. The student looked stunned. I was usually fairly professional, fairly calm. But well, that was not now. And then I looked. My ‘bad girl’ student was crying. Had I gone too far?When she spoke, the bravado was gone. A tiny voice like a child that is having trouble grasping something. “Cheriti is dead? Didn’t she just graduate?” (She had left campus and was student teaching.) There were tears rolling down the student’s face. “Cheriti can’t be dead. She was too nice to die. Her brother always told everyone to be careful about the train. They can’t be dead.”She stood up to leave. “Please tell Cheriti’s mother that I’m sorry.” And with that, the big bad administrator that had just minutes before read the student the riot act reached out and hugged her. I came to find out that Cheriti and my bad girl student had had a pretty strange friendship. When my bad girl was sober and civil, she and Cheriti had actually had some pretty deep discussions. She was one of the hundreds of people that were at the funeral the following Tuesday as Cheriti and her brother, a senior getting ready to graduate from high school, were buried.23 Aug 1967 - 26 Jan 1989

At the outset, let me say that I'm answering from the perspective of a successful computer science professor at an elite institution. That means I can't really complain about my undergraduate students, graduate students, teaching load, research funding, salary, etc. (I mean, I can, but you wouldn't and shouldn't take me seriously.) That's a pretty long list. Now just imagine that one or more of those would not apply to many (most?) faculty. That already generates a significant list of downsides.But even from a happy position, one can identify problems:Most of my funding comes from federal sources. Federal protocols can be stultifying. You can lose whole days to doing silly things in painful ways.Even colleagues who are collegial and intelligent and charming can prove to be remarkably unable to perform their share of service. Because academia looks down on service generally (Shriram Krishnamurthi's answer to Do professors enjoy the time they spend on administrative tasks?), this provides cover for such non-performance. As a result, people who are conscientious end up over-burdened and, proportionally, under-rewarded (because there is little academic glory in having kept trains running on time). Indeed, the system is almost optimized for abuse in this regard.Universities are not very well-run places. Most academics are not really trained (and many are perhaps not even qualified) to run large organizations. This isn't to say industrial organizations or non-profits are any better run, but you can encounter unique forms of disorganization and misorganization when you leave academics in charge (and this is compounded when they bring in “management types” to compensate). A good university is one where people largely leave you alone (which my institution does for the most part); a bad one is one where this poor execution is visited with regularity on the faculty.There is a fair amount of glory-seeking by administrators, which can lead to questionable or even disastrous outcomes. This happens in all walks of life, but academics ought to be smart enough to see through this whereas, unfortunately, they fall for it (I blogged about this some time ago: http://notes-from-a-sticky-wicket.blogspot.com/2007/07/provost-paradox.html).There is an opportunity cost in terms of salary, stock options, perks, etc., which is especially significant in my line of work. Obviously, these are (believed to be) compensated for in other ways (tenure, freedom, teaching, etc.: see Shriram Krishnamurthi's answer to Why do people pursue academic research even though it pays less than industrial research?).Finally, most subtly, and perhaps most ironically: it can be hard to concentrate. Contrary to the general public's image of professors are lone eccentrics locked in garrets, most faculty are actively engaged in numerous activities at once. It becomes very difficult to actively withdraw from all of them to work on just one thing, in depth, at length. To some extent this is just our inability to say no, but there are also genuine obligations that we have to fulfill and that we can't defer endlessly unless we want to be the kind of people who take but don't give. The stream of conference reviewing, journal reviewing, proposal reviewing, chairing of things, writing of reports, etc., can all take up a significant amount of time, and more to the point, your concentration suffers death by a thousand cuts.Do these sound like significant problems? They aren't; many are, as the Web would have it, #firstworldproblems. On the other hand, there are people who argue that we face existential threats to the entire enterprise (rising college costs, MOOCs, etc.), which are much more significant concerns for those who want to be professors.