Sweatshirts decorated with symbols of the nearest holiday.

"Good morning! Oh, where's your hat? Do you like mine? Ha ha ha! It's Floppy Hat day! You didn't hear? Ha ha! Well, it was in my e-mail. Oh, no, that's okay! It's all for fun! You don't have to wear a floppy hat! Jean, do we have an extra floppy hat for him?"

She knows your birthday. She always wears a smile. She can make your life a living hell. Like Annie Wilkes of Misery fame, she tells you she's your "Number One Fan" and she means it... as long as you do exactly what she wants.

She says it would be fun if everyone in the office dressed like Cupid for Valentine's Day. She suggests we all get together and put on a skit about the things that make us happy. The boss goes along with her in the name of boosting morale.

The reality, as anyone who has cringed their way through Misery Lady's events can tell you, is that she's "boosting morale" in the same way that dressing up her cat boosts the cat's morale

Let her see things from your perspective.

At one company where I worked as a consultant, I had the men in the office organize Gladiator Days. On Gladiator Day, everyone was required to go shirtless and speak only in profanity. Everyone was forced to carry a club and all requests were ignored unless followed up with a threat (i.e., "Make these fucking copies for me or else I'll see that your daughter starts being an orphan and stops being a virgin on the very same night.")

By lunch, the message was sent loud and clear: what is fun for one and what is fun for another are two very different things.

If it's a man, he may have a shaved head or a goatee or both. If it's a woman, she's got lines around her mouth that give her a 24-hour scowl. They'll stomp around with an "I'm gonna kick somebody's ass" look, even on the way to the coffee machine.

Office-safe curses such as "friggin'" and "S.O.B." and "Gosh Dang it," all spoken through gritted teeth.

A bully. You won't like the Hulk when he's angry, and he's pretty much always angry — a landmine that can go off even if you don't step on it. Everything you do or say can be taken as a personal affront to him if he so chooses; every disappointment or mild inconvenience expressed with Louis Farrakhan-esque hyperbole. And everything can be an excuse to do what The Hulk enjoys most: engaging in a theatrical screaming match that can be heard from eight cubicles away.

Remember, the Hulk just wants to smash — the object of the smashing isn't important. Try some redirection to channel their rage elsewhere. The following technique works well:

Hulk: "SON OF A BEE! Some A-Hole stapled these reports again. How many friggin' times do I have to tell people these need to be PAPERCLIPPED TOGETHER. It ain't rocket science, people. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. This is just a total slap in the face. That's what it is."

You: (Hiding the stapler in your hand) "Uh...yes. I agree. Oh, you know what I overheard? They're going to make our department move our morning break time from 9:00 to 9:15."

Hulk: "WHAT?!?!? I'M SORRY, I THOUGHT ABE LINCOLN SIGNED A LITTLE SOMETHING CALLED THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION! I'LL BE MAKING A CALL TO RITA ABOUT THIS!"

(Stomps away)

A tattoo on the lower back, coupled with clothing that displays the tattoo on the lower back. She will dye even blonde hair, just to make it blonder.

"Are you sure you can't trade shifts with me on Thursday? Before you decide, maybe you should first touch base with my beaver." (Uncrosses legs).

She's divorced. She's got a kid. She was a favorite with the boys 10 years ago and in the words of Duran Duran, she's hungry like the wolf. But if you're not careful, you can wind up her slave. Not the kind of slave you're imagining, either. I'm talking about the kind of fully-clothed slavery that has you doing menial tasks for her in exchange for the vague, boobish promise of something that can, in reality, only end in tragedy.

This one is tricky. You don't want to overtly mistreat Basic Instinct Lady, because that will only make her more attracted to you (you'll remind her of her father). You also should avoid the advice of some workplace efficiency experts who say the best course of action is to "ride that shit like the Kentucky Derby."

No, the key here is to remember that she is a Mom first and foremost. Beneath her flirting is a subconscious desire to reel in a stable dad for their child. Warding her off is as easy as letting her see you beat a child in public.

If you are squeamish about such things, one alternative is to have a Sex Offender sign placed in your yard and make sure she sees it. You can have them printed up yourself or you can get one free from the government by committing a sex offense.

None. You'll know them only by the sounds they make, usually long sighs and mumbled complaints.

(Long sigh). "Well, the machine in the break room is out of the powdered doughnuts again. I can already tell this is gonna be a wonderful week. Oh, look. They're replacing Frank's monitor finally." (Sarcastic scoff). "This place is a joke."

They're called Aliens for two reasons. One, they have acid for blood. They're continuously "bleeding acid" from countless "wounds" and that "acid" can "eat" your "skin."

I'm speaking figuratively, of course. Their "bleeding" is a stream of constant petty complaints about how the company, and world in general, has wronged them on a daily basis. Their wounds become your wounds, since a half hour of listening to them bitch can leave any good day in a smoking, molten ruin. Being forced to work with this person on a project will make you wish you were working with one of the actual aliens instead.

But they're also called "aliens" because of their ability to breed more aliens from the human beings around them. That's what the alien wants deep down: to fill the planet with beings as miserable as they are. After a while the alien will plant the "egg" of dissatisfaction down your throat and before you know it, a stream of bitching will come bursting out of you. "Man, these free hamburgers they gave out at the company picnic don't even have mushrooms. What is this, American cheese? Pfft. Bunch of cheap bastards."

Blow him out of the airlock, like in the movie. If your place of work is not pressurized and thus does not have an airlock, try to get him fired somehow. You'll be doing him a favor, since the job is making him so unhappy (never mind that NO job would make an alien happy).

One way is to wait until Bring Your Daughter to Work Day and try to induce him to beat one of the children in front of the other workers. Most companies have a policy against this and he will be terminated shortly.

A lit "I've got a brilliant idea!" lightbulb blinking on over their head. You'll also notice people running away in terror at the sight of this.

"We're going to try something a little different this week... no, no. Hear me out..."

The mad scientist of the office. If they had a laboratory, they'd be trying to create a race of super soldiers by breeding bear-sharks with the minds of serial killers. In their head is a supercomputer full of ideas, standing next to a few index cards containing their good ideas.

It was Dr. Moreau's idea to make everyone keep a written log of every photocopy they make and what time of day they make it, in order to get a better idea of what times of day are the most stressful for the copy machine. This project results in a printed schedule which designates a series of five-minute periods through the day when each employee may use the copier, a schedule which rotates every thirteenth day.

By definition, this person outranks you so this is a situation that must be handled delicately. Any reasoned protest issued about the good doctor's latest dozen "workflow" changes will be met with an enthusiastic, "just give it a try!" Any suggestions of "You're a fucking retard" will make you appear to not be a team player.

Feign incompetence. We've all seen how even a well thought-out system can be brought crashing down by a single confused, drooling idiot. You know, the guy who hits "Reply to All" when answering department-wide e-mails. Sadly, you must become that idiot. That log sheet he's about to hand you, the one that lets you track the frequency and duration of your bathroom breaks? Let him find that thing stuffed down your pants the next day.

Practice a look of well-meaning, earnest embarrassment and wear it every time you get caught sabotaging the plan. Before long, they'll scrap the whole thing out of sheer frustration. Also, be sure to keep following the old instructions for about five days after they tell everyone to stop.

T-shirts with band logos or droll sayings on the back.

Simpsons quotes, or in extreme cases, Family Guy quotes.

The universe exists only for his amusement. All human communication stops at the part of his brain that manufactures sarcasm. Even urgent instructions are met with a look of self-amusement, with all aural input stopped at the door and routed for immediate turnaround in his Quip Factory.

You: "That's the fire alarm! Head for the exit! Use the one in back!"

Joker: "I'm about to exit something out back, if you know what I mean!"

You: "This is NOT A DRILL! Get out or you're going to die!"

Joker: "That's what she said!"

You: "Your shirt's on fire!"

Joker: "D'oh!"

Don't try to outwit the Joker. That's like trying to out-bark a dog. No, verbal wit is the one, lone, useless talent upon which the Joker's entire life is built.

Instead, go in front of the mirror and practice your cold, hard stare. And I don't mean a momentary, "I didn't approve of that comment" glance, or the kind of annoyed scowl Mr. Joker saw on the faces of every school teacher he's ever had. No, I'm talking five or ten silent minutes of a dead, expressionless gaze. You'd be surprised at how amazingly effective it is at shutting down The Joker.

You: "...and as you can see, the third quarter sales were limp across the board."

Joker: "That sounds like a personal problem!"

(You turn on him with a frozen stare, your face a lifeless corpse mask)

You: "..."

Joker: "What?"

You: "......"

Joker: "Dude, looks like somebody needs to reboot!"

You: "............"

Joker: "Okay. I'm sorry. I'll shut up now."

You: "........................"

Joker: "Dude, just go on. I'll be quiet. Sorry. Jeez."

You: "................................................"

Joker: "OKAY."

You: "................................................................................................"

(This silence should last at least eleven minutes.)

Joker: "ALL RIGHT. All right. I'm a huge attention whore. My Dad had his career and my Mom told me she always wanted a girl. At my first baseball game, both of them got cell phone calls and they both left. I had to sit there at the school for two hours before one of the janitors saw me and gave me a ride home out of pity. When I came in through the front door, they told me they forgot they had a son at all."

(Weeping bitterly)

You: " ...................................................................................................
....................................................................................................
....................................................................................................
...................................................................................................."

A shit-eating salesman smile and a well-practiced expression of sincerity in the eyes.

"Look, I totally agree with you. No, no. I'm totally on your side on this. Totally. They're being completely unreasonable."

This is the liquid metal Terminator from Terminator 2. The shape-shifter. The Terminator completely changes personality depending on whether he or she is talking to you or is speaking behind your back. Even behind your back there is further variation depending on whether they are talking to your friends or enemies.

This is the person who will congratulate you on a project, then laugh about it to their friends. This person touches you on the shoulder and wishes you well, but carries on many whispery conversations that come to an abrupt halt the moment you walk by.

This is because to the T-1000, words of kindness or agreement are merely a tool to extract a desired behavior from another person. They feed you compliments or sympathy in the same way they'd feed coins into a vending machine.

Rent the movie. You'll see that the T-1000 was undone with a grenade launch to the gut. When the shell exploded, the liquid metal body sprayed in every direction. Its shape-shifting abilities were rendered meaningless.

Do the same here. Grenade launchers aren't available at retail but can be purchased off the black market. Either a fragmentation or incendiary grenade should do the trick.

J.P. Maxwell is the author of Fuck You, Julie: Handling Conflict in the Workplace.