Aristotle’s Theory of Perception

Aristotle's Theory of Perception

As a birthday treat, we and our friends went out for a meal at a Greek restaurant…

 

We ordered our drinks and perused the menu.

 

Greek music was playing softly in the background.

 

Even the charming typing error on the menu added to the ambiance; ‘roasted chicken tights’.

 

On that dark and damp November evening, we began to feel as though we were indeed far from care on a sun-kissed Aegean Island.

 

The waitress, with a wonderfully sultry accent, asked if we were ready to order.

 

We ordered dishes that reminded us of the blissful holidays spent in Greece.

 

We chatted about Greece, reminiscing about happy times.

 

It turns out that we had all learned to speak a little Greek, just enough to get by.

 

Handy phrases such as “Could I have some more bread please?”, “Not now Sophia!” and “I have a flat tyre.”

 

The waitress arrived with our meals. “Efharisto” I said in my best accent and with a smile.

 

She looked a little surprised, perhaps impressed (it was hard to tell), before she responded with a warm “Parakalo”.

 

I was reminded by my partner that I should have said “Efharisto poli” as that would have been more polite.

 

The meal was delicious and we were all thoroughly infused with the evocative Greek ambiance.

 

When the coffees arrived we all thanked the waitress enthusiastically with “Efharisto poli” and asked for the bill.

 

I thought she looked a little sad. Perhaps she was feeling homesick and we were just making matters worse by speaking to her in her mother tongue.

 

Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and replied once again with a friendly “Parakalo.”

 

As she was processing our payment she asked if we had enjoyed the meal. We all exclaimed that we had, very much.

 

“Where are you from?” I asked.

 

“Armenia” she replied “Your taxis are waiting outside for you.”

 

My embarrassment was soon overtaken by amazement to see that our taxi was being driven by a man that looked remarkably like Father Christmas.

 

As he drove us home I admired his perfectly formed snow-white bushy beard. Of course I knew that he wasn’t actually Father Christmas but a childlike excitement washed over me nonetheless.

 

When we arrived home and paid him, he said “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you tell me what you put in your hair to make it like that? You see, I’m Father Christmas and I’ve run out of wax for my moustache and I thought I would try something different. It needs to be like this…”

 

He turned around and twisted the ends of his perfect moustache into upturned points.

 

“It’s gel, just wait a minute and we’ll get you some.” I said breathlessly.

 

Father Christmas gratefully accepted the tube of gel and winked at us before disappearing into the night.

 

I was sure I could hear sleigh bells.

 

“Begin challenging your own assumptions. Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in awhile, or the light won’t come in.” ~Alan Alda ~