Question: In my second year as the only tenure-track woman in my department at "Grand Magnum Research University," I'm continually irritated by a vocal and disaffected grad student I'll call Mr. Upstart Whelp.

We're both on the hiring committee to replace Upstart's adviser, who is retiring -- but only Upstart, of course, knows how things should be done. Upstart also knows that his is the only significant subfield in our discipline. Mine (which he knows nothing about) is "boring" and "nowhere near cutting edge." Upstart is loud and argumentative, and his ill-formed opinions are a waste of time.

And, well, he pisses me off. He peacocks at seminars, and purports to know "how to succeed in grad school" ("faculty act like they're busy, but they don't really do anything, so you should make the rules"). He's bought into the department's sexism, trying to curry favor by criticizing my ideas in public. I'd like to rub his nose in the news that I have a Ph.D. and a job, and he doesn't. I also have wicked fantasies about giving him a Jackie Chan-style kick in the face.

Yet I also have some existential angst and self-doubts about being in a position of power. Must I comfort myself with fantasies, or is there a way to stop this guy from being such an arrogant prick?

Answer: Ms. Mentor can hardly deny you your revenge fantasies. They are the refuge and the delight of every geek, nerd, lab and library rat. They are the solitary vice at which academics are most proficient.

For instance, what if ... you took martial-arts lessons, rented Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon a dozen times, memorized all the moves, and then seized the floor during a committee meeting and kicked/thwapped/slapped the Upstart into senseless submission?

Or what if you decided to contribute dramatically to Upstart's literary education? You might leave about a copy of Macbeth, open to Act 4, Scene 2, in which Young Macduff calls a murderous intruder a "shag-eared villain." The intruder, his self-esteem obviously wounded, cries out, "What, you egg! Young fry of treachery!" and kills the noble but misguided young pup.

Upstart might get the message that one ought not to piss off the people with knives: profs with tenure, and those on the track to get it.

You might also, realistically, tattle on Upstart to your department chair. Your chair might sympathize with you as a damsel in distress. But he might also wonder whether you're up to the rigors of tenure.

What to do? Ms. Mentor suggests you do nothing in particular.

She knows, in her infinite wisdom, that all Upstarts eventually slip and fall on their own banana peels. They lack the radar to know they've offended; they lack the cunning to fake being charming to those who can benefit them.

Instead, Upstarts labor under the delusion that everyone wants to hear their opinions. They are, yes, the ones who peacock -- who strut and fret and ask the laborious and irrelevant questions at department seminars. They are the ones who mortify and harangue job candidates. (Ms. Mentor directs interested readers to the discussion of peacocking in her tome, noted below.)

You, meanwhile, should be taking notes on Upstart's boorish behavior. Keep a notebook with you at department meetings, and write down (in a coded shorthand) what he says and does that is offensive, especially to you. Keep a duplicate copy of your Upstart journal safely at home. If there is ever any question about harassment, or a pointed discussion about whether he should receive departmental goodies (awards, honors), you will need facts, dates, and particulars.

You can also, now and then if the spirit moves you, goad him to look worse in the eyes of the tenured faculty members who make decisions about recommendations and assistantships. "Tell me why you feel my subfield is useless and boring," you may ask innocently. The more he orates, the more he tightens his own noose, and the more the tenured professors will find him insufferable. They will rise up in wrath, squelch the Upstart, and view you as a marvelous and moderate presence.

Serenely doing little or nothing also frees your mind for your research and teaching. If Upstart dominates your thoughts, he will have diverted your energy and attention to himself and stolen it from you. He will have won.

Finally, Ms. Mentor exhorts you not to wallow in angst or guilt about possessing the power you have. You have earned it, and you can teach through example. You can publish and get tenure. You can even list Upstart in your acknowledgments, if his presence has pushed you to excel.

Eventually you may even choose to be the tenured professor in your department who handles political problems and social tensions -- the one who tells loudmouths to pipe down.

You don't need to fantasize in order to become the best of all academic creatures -- a mentor.

Question: Is it permissible to attend award ceremonies and academic receptions in order to gorge myself on all the tasty hors d'oeuvres, and then slink away?

Answer: Yes.

SAGE READERS: Ms. Mentor's request last month for summer plans and musings netted some disturbing responses. "I don't slack off for the summer," several readers wrote, "and I make my courses as tough as I can, for me and the students. But I don't get paid as much per course as I do during the school year. I think I'm being rather exploited."

Ms. Mentor agrees, and wonders why faculty members are willing to do the same amount of work and get paid less for it. Thousands of graduate students are not, and teaching assistants throughout the country are forming unions. Perhaps the young should be teaching and mentoring the old?

As always, Ms. Mentor invites rants, speculations, gossip, and questions that are not purely factual ("Do I need X degree to teach at Y U?") Her forte is academic secrets and wicked truths. In future columns, she expects to discuss such topics as backstabbers, changing academic wardrobes, religion, food, and (if she must) boredom, burnout, and midlife crises. She invites comments on all these topics.

She rarely answers individual letters, and always scrambles identifying details. Your colleagues will not know that you're the mole who ratted.