Back in an office environment, I'm readjusting to workplace etiquette. But there's one piece of this manners puzzle that has eluded me all my working life: Where do you go after the first hello?

Take Ron, our security guard, for example. Ron sits behind a desk in our company's lobby. Ron is an older gentleman, a Medicare recipient if ever I saw one. His job is to keep out the numerous gun-toting nut jobs who regularly storm our office in a lather over their insufficient dental benefits. OK, so it's not quite that. I honestly don't know why we need a security guard. But it gives Ron something to do, even if I'm not sure what he does all day.

Ron has a TV monitor that displays every nook and cranny of our lobby -- elevators, water fountains, the whole kit and caboodle. Apparently the 6th floor lobby of a mostly empty high-rise office building is a dangerous place to be. All I know is you don't pick your nose or adjust your panties until you're safely behind the bathroom door.

But back to my original question, and the premise for this entry. Ron is polite and professional, but not jolly or particularly relaxed. He'll open the door to the office if your hands are full. He'll share observations about the weather. And he'll, well actually, that's about all the interaction I have with him. Our relationship is rather stiff.

I'm a friendly person by nature, so this makes me uncomfortable. Thus my quandary. In the morning, I breeze in with a wide smile and say, "Good morning, Ron!" Ron looks up, smiles broadly and says, "Good morning!" in return and with equal gusto. Ron never calls me by name, because he does not know my name. Nor has he ever asked for it. At day's end, I sweep through again. "Goodnight, Ron!" Ron volleys back the same.

Yet I typically come through this lobby several times a day. In those between times, I studiously ignore Ron. This is always an effort for me. My instinct is to say hello again. But we've been there, done that and have no need to do so again. Besides, Ron typically does not look up when I walk through the lobby between those working hours. When and if he does, I am not sure how to respond. If I'm already walking past his desk, and have so far ignored him, I continue to do so. If it's early on in my journey through the lobby, I may look up, make eye contact and smile, or nod. But never do we say hello again.

None of it feels right. And in all my years of office work, never has it felt so awkward.

Likely, I've just been lucky. Most of the newspapers for which I worked were small, the staff friends, our job duties similar. We used the same terminology, hated the same community members, laughed at black humor others would find abhorrent and did foolish, drunken, after-hours things in front of (and sometimes to) one another. We threw things across the office at one another: chocolates, insults, Xacto blades and the like. We generally behaved like one big, dysfunctional family.

Yet the "Ron" scenario plays out throughout the day with most of my current co-workers. These people are not friends, or even people whose quirks are endured for the sake of workplace harmony. They are one step, and sometimes only a half step, up from the person on the elevator with whom you might discuss the weather. I know none of their quirks. Our job duties are so varied -- some selling insurance, others working in nursing homes, still others overseeing company finances, technical issues and Medicare compliance -- that few of us even know what our cubemates do.

Laura is married. I know this by the ring on her left hand. Brett has a baby. I know this from the photos at his desk. Aaron loves coffee. I know this because he consistently takes the last cup and leaves the pot stone dry. The inconsiderate asshole. I do not know these things because Laura, Brett or Aaron told me.

And then there's Clara. About whom I know everything, including the firmness of her chihuahua's waste. Clara is an odd, little exception.

I'm OK with working with relative strangers. It's just the way it is in our business, and our office. I'm just not OK with this whole second greeting thing. Do you smile? Nod? High five? Ignore? Compliment hair, clothing, or sales records? Am I the only one who wonders about this sort of thing?

To add to my discomfort, I sometimes forget who it is that I've already greeted. Thus, I may double blast someone with, "Hey! How are you?" in a fresh, top-of-the-morning tone of voice. This elicits a befuddled, often annoyed look, as the person realizes I've forgotten we previously crossed paths. There is absolutely no way out of this situation. Additional words only will worsen it.

This small quandary is, if nothing else, a study in human behavior. Can Brian really be so focused on his job that he truly does not see me? Does Mary Jo ever blink? How can Jenna stride so purposefully in four-inch heels? Does Fiona know there's spinach on her teeth?

And Ron, most of all the man and the mystery that is Ron. Is he hiding something? Is he insecure? Uncomfortable with women? Is work his shelter from a horrible home life? Are my cheery greetings the bright spot in his otherwise dreary day?

Or would he really rather I just shut up?