The minute motions of magnanimous Maximilian

Because what’s more annoying than try-hardy alliterations?

If you’re not following me on Snapchat, then you may be asking, “Who is Maximilian? Why is he magnanimous? Why are you using such a pretentious adjective?”

The answers to which are quite simple: Maximilian (or Max, as his friends call him) is the roly-poly — also known as a pill bug or doodle bug — that lives in the potted plant across from the receptionist; he is indeed a very noble creature; finally, I have an English degree that is unfortunately under-utilized in my work life. I gotta express myself somewhere, nawmsayin’?

However, if you are familiar with Max, then you know that he has become my beacon of sanity and amusement in an otherwise austere environment. I try my best to avoid speaking of office life on social media — half to save my hide for future employment, half because I work with confidential information— but viewers of my Snapchat have known him as my only work friend. Yes, a roly-poly.

I look forward to seeing him every morning, look forward to finding more yet-to-be-named roly-polies on the ground to join him in his ceramic abode, and worry a bit too excessively when he hasn’t surfaced all day. In fact, Max’s popularity has gotten to the point where my Snapchat viewers have questioned his absence when I fail to report on his whereabouts.

Max is more commonly referred to as my lil’ buddy.

It’s strange the things you find solace in when your mind is numbed with corporate buzzwords and hectic deadlines, when your day-to-day consists of ways to “push the envelope” and how to “disrupt innovation.”

You may question how much better it is to anthropomorphize a roly-poly than to subscribe to business culture, but then you’d be mistaken! I do not actually believe that Max is a real person, but at least he provides more substance to my life than any discussion of synergistic revenue streams that will push a new sustainable paradigm.

But I digress.

Though Max has been there for me since I’ve started working here, I can’t help but think of the day I’ll have to say goodbye. Maybe it’s a little telling that my (questionable) sanity rests on the nonexistent shoulders of a minute armadillidiidae, but maybe it’s just me realizing that it’s the small things that get us through the day.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.