The Hazards of Archaeology
I talked to K last night. She said she spent the evening hanging out with some friends, and that one of them, Dan, is now a professional archaeologist and K said I "made a good call" in not actually becoming an archaeologist. I said it was because I had found out it involved being on hands and knees in the dirt for hours with a ruler and a paintbrush, removing dirt an atom at a time, instead of hacking through the jungle with a machete to discover the ruins of Copan. K said no, it was "because bees." Dan said that most of what he did was dig test holes in sites before construction went forward in order to determine if there were remains of historical interest on the site, and that 99% of the time there was nothing; but bees. Usually the first shovelful will discover a treasure trove of ground bees-- and because Dan has gloves and long sleeves on they would head right for his face and neck. The real reason I didn't go for archaeology was because I had a chance...