Indiana Jones picked up a bone fragment in one hand and a toothbrush in the other. He hated this. He knew what archeology was supposed to be about. He'd watched his father. He'd done some... studying on his own. But the longer he stayed in school, the more he wondered if he was right for this field. His professors and future colleagues struck him as pompous, stuffy frauds. His advisor was a little better, but he hardly noticed Indiana's existence -- and when he did, he called him "Henry." As for his research, not once since he got to grad school had it involved jumping from a moving train, or dodging bullets. What it did involve was reading a lot of incredibly long, jargon-filled journal articles, or cleaning and classifying things.
Indiana wasn't a big fan of cleaning or reading. How could he have known archeology would turn out to be so dry, so dusty, so dull? Indiana liked to think of himself as a man of action. He was beginning to think academia might not be the right place for a guy like him.
He went to work with the toothbrush. He might as well be a dentist. At least then, he'd get paid for this. Presently, he was being paid as a teaching assistant, which meant he really shouldn't even be in the lab. He should really be grading papers. But that was even more tedious. At least cleaning and classifying let him handle real bones.
Indy started, and banged the bone on the edge of the desk. He swore under his breath. He'd chipped it. He'd have tried to claim the damage was done by wild animals, or grave robbers, except that his advisor had definitely seen it happen. He sighed.
"Yes, Dr. Pennington?"
Pennington was looking pointedly at the bone fragment. "I need you to make some copies for me."
"Yes, Dr. Pennington."
And now he wouldn't be allowed to handle the bones anymore. Oh well. Only five more years 'til graduation...
(I don't know anything about archeology, but I bet that's still a more accurate depiction than any other Indiana Jones story.)