The glass every table gets

A café in Riyadh brings a small glass of mint lemonade to your table before you order. The server says it is on the house, and for a moment you feel chosen.

By the third visit you notice that every table gets one. By the tenth it is simply part of sitting down, like the napkin.

Nothing about the glass has changed. It is just as cold and just as sweet. What changed is what it means.

A gesture feels special because it is held back. The moment it goes to everyone, every time, it stops being a gift and becomes the standard. And the standard is not noticed when it is there. It is only noticed when it is missing, and then it feels like a slight.

You can see the same drift elsewhere. A priority lane that everyone is waved into. A handwritten thank you that turns out to be printed on every receipt. A welcome reserved for important guests that now greets the courier too. The intention behind each is generous. The effect is that the special thing has nowhere left to live.

None of this makes the café less kind. The lemonade is still good, and the guests still drink it.

It just stopped being the welcome the day it became the routine.