Every store in this country shouts the same two words when you enter: "Welcome in!" The first time, I stopped in the doorway and gave a formal response. "I am honored to be received." By the time I finished my bow, the clerk was gone. Folding shirts somewhere. The welcome had been issued and the issuer had moved on. This troubled me. A greeting with no follow-through? So I investigated. I entered the same store five times in one afternoon. "Welcome in!" — all five times. Equal warmth. ZERO recognition. By the fourth visit I was certain she knew my face, and still: "Welcome in!" — fresh, bright, automatic, like a temple bell that rings whenever the wind moves it. On my fifth entry I tested her directly. "It is me again." "Welcome in!" Magnificent. The welcome is not for you. The welcome is a force of nature that happens to include you. I believe that woman would greet the door itself if it opened in the wind, and the door would feel welcomed, because the welcome is REAL even though it is aimed at no one. I asked her, finally, how many times a day she says it. She thought about it. "Like... four hundred?" Four hundred welcomes a day. That woman has welcomed more souls than most shrines. On my way out she said "Have a good one!" and I said "Welcome in!" by accident, out of sheer momentum. She said it back. I have peaked in this country. Everything now is descent.