Alright, so you haven’t made a mistake and accidentally clicked on a link for the Daily Mail or the Telegraph with that headline, you have found us at untypicable in a mood to reveal a big secret. Neurodivergent people are the quiet ones in the meeting who seem to have an unnatural ability to notice when someone’s borrowed our pen (without asking). We are the ones who reorganise the office kitchen “just because it makes more sense this way.”
But what if all those quirks are part of something bigger? What if the hyper-fixations, the need for routine, and the obsessive attention to detail are all part of a master plan? What if—brace yourself—neurodivergent people are actually Bond villains in disguise, plotting to take over the world (or at least the office)?
Sit back, pour yourself a villainous cup of coffee (two sugars, no small talk), and let’s explore this theory.
The Hyper-Fixation Lair
Every great Bond villain needs a high-tech lair. For neurodivergent people, this isn’t an underground volcano—it’s our hyper-fixations. While others waste time debating last night’s football match or planning the next team-building exercise, we’re laser-focused on our pet projects.
You thought Karen’s obsession with perfect Excel formatting was just a quirk? Think again—it’s the foundation for her plan to create an unbreakable monopoly on office efficiency. Dave’s fascination with ancient Roman aqueducts? It’s not a hobby—it’s a blueprint for taking control of the water cooler hierarchy.
We don’t just have interests. We have schemes.
The Power of Silence
Ah, silence. To the untrained eye, it looks like passivity or shyness. But in reality, silence is where neurodivergent masterminds thrive.
While everyone else is busy brainstorming aloud or throwing half-formed ideas into the void, we’re observing. Watching. Calculating. Our minds are running simulations, predicting outcomes, and pinpointing exactly when to unleash the perfect comment.
That quiet colleague who never speaks in meetings until they suddenly drop the exact solution you needed? Classic villain behaviour.
The Stationery Arsenal
Bond villains love gadgets, and neurodivergent people have their own arsenal—stationery.
- Coloured pens: Not just for doodling but for creating intricate, colour-coded charts that map out every possible move in a meeting.
- Sticky notes: Perfect for leaving cryptic messages like “Review section 4. Or else.”
- The Whiteboard of Power: What looks like harmless brainstorming is actually the blueprint for a full-scale office revolution.
And don’t forget the clicky pen, which doubles as an intimidation tool when clicked repeatedly during tense discussions.
The Villain’s Weakness: Sensory Overload
Even the most diabolical plans have vulnerabilities, and for neurodivergent villains, it’s sensory overload. Sure, we can mastermind the reorganisation of the office filing system, but if the fluorescent lights start buzzing or someone starts eating loudly in the background, we’re out.
Picture a villain retreating mid-monologue because the room smells faintly of burnt popcorn. That’s us.
The Great Office Takeover
The endgame, of course, is total domination of the office. Not through chaos, but through meticulous, calculated change. Imagine a workplace where:
- Meetings are silent unless absolutely necessary.
- Open-plan offices are abolished forever.
- Small talk is outlawed in favour of “companionable silence zones.”
- The snack cupboard is restocked weekly and patrolled for biscuit thieves.
It’s not evil—it’s efficient.
The Big Reveal
Now, let’s address the question on everyone’s mind: are neurodivergent people actually Bond villains plotting world domination?
Of course not. (Or are we?)
In reality, this whole idea is satire—a playful way to poke fun at the misconceptions people often have about neurodivergence. We’re not quietly scheming to overthrow the office. Most of us are just trying to survive the day without having to explain, for the fiftieth time, why we rearranged the stationery cupboard “for better flow.” Yes, I have experienced first-hand someone who thought I was trying to mastermind the office, all down to not sharing my inner monologue at all times through the day, unlike them.
But the fact that this idea even feels plausible says a lot about how people misinterpret neurodivergent behaviour. Silence doesn’t mean plotting—it means processing. Hyper-fixations aren’t blueprints for domination—they’re passions that bring us joy. And our love of order isn’t about control—it’s about finding calm in a chaotic world.
So, no, neurodivergent people aren’t Bond villains. We’re just humans navigating a world that doesn’t always make sense to us. But hey, if organising the office snack cupboard with military precision makes us seem villainous, we’ll take it.
Conclusion: Or Are We?
Let’s leave it on a mysterious note. Neurodivergent people might not actually be Bond villains—but you’ll never be entirely sure, will you? Just know that the next time you see us quietly observing in a meeting, we’re probably not planning your downfall.
Probably.
AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.
As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.
AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.
For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in.
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