Three neurodivergent ontologists, Dr. Alistair Finch (whose special interest was the nature of abstract concepts), Professor Beatrice "Bea" Hawthorne (a connoisseur of mereology and the problem of universals), and young Elara Vance (an enthusiastic, if sometimes literal, scholar of identity and change), walked into "The Gastronomic Void," a trendy new restaurant notorious for its minimalist decor and inscrutable menu.
Alistair immediately began to categorize the patrons. "Observe," he muttered, adjusting his spectacles, "the inherent 'treeness' of the table, yet its particular manifestation as 'this specific table.' Is the universal 'table' instantiated here, or is this merely a collection of particles organized as if it were a table?" He pulled out a small notebook.
Bea, already deep in thought, tapped her chin. "And what of the menu, Alistair? It purports to offer 'artisanal simplicity.' Is simplicity itself an artisanable quality, or is it an absence of complexity? And if the latter, can an absence be crafted?" She frowned at a dish simply labeled "Existence."
Elara, meanwhile, was meticulously arranging her cutlery into a perfect linear sequence, forks descending in size, then spoons, then knives. "But if this fork is the fork, and then I use it to eat, does it cease to be the fork and become a 'fork-in-use'? Does its identity shift with its function?" She looked earnestly at a passing waiter, who wisely avoided eye contact.
The waiter, a harried young man named Kevin, finally approached. "Good evening," he said, trying for a cheerful tone. "May I take your order?"
Alistair looked up, startled. "Order? Ah, yes. The imposition of structure upon a chaotic reality. Before we address the 'what,' Kevin, perhaps we should address the 'how.' What is the ontological status of a menu item before it is ordered? Is it merely potentiality, or does it possess a latent being?"
Kevin blinked. "It's, uh, just food, sir. We have specials."
Bea leaned forward. "Kevin, let's consider the 'special.' Is its 'specialness' an intrinsic property, or is it relational, contingent upon its deviation from the 'non-special'? And if all items are 'special' in their unique particularity, does the term then lose its meaning, thus collapsing the distinction?"
Elara had finished arranging her cutlery and now began to re-arrange it into concentric circles. "If I order the 'Soup of the Day,' and tomorrow it's a different soup, is it still the same 'Soup of the Day' conceptually, or has it become a new 'Soup of the Day' entirely, despite the shared designation?"
Kevin sweat. "Look, folks, do you want to, like, eat?"
Alistair nodded gravely. "Indeed. The act of consumption, a transformation of being. But is the 'burger' I consume still a 'burger' qua burger after it enters my digestive system, or does it become 'digested food,' or even 'nutrients'? At what precise point does its 'burger-ness' cease to be?"
Bea sighed contentedly. "Ah, the Ship of Theseus applied to a patty! Exquisite!"
"I'll have the 'Existence'," Elara declared suddenly, pointing to the menu. "But only if it's truly there."
Kevin stared at the menu. "'Existence' is just, like, a plain bun with nothing on it. It's ironic."
Alistair beamed. "A profound statement on essence and void! I'll take the 'Unmanifested Potential' – hold the manifestation, of course."
Bea, ever practical, pointed to another item. "And I shall have the 'Phenomenological Fry Platter.' I wish to observe the inherent 'fry-ness' firsthand, before it dissolves into the realm of the consumed."
Kevin, utterly defeated, scribbled their orders. As he walked away, he heard Alistair muse, "And what of Kevin's 'being'? Is he primarily 'waiter,' 'individual,' or 'a series of transient states performing a service'?"
Bea chuckled. "Perhaps he is simply 'a very patient man in a terrible situation'."
Elara, having finished her cutlery arrangements, began to stack the salt and pepper shakers into a precarious tower. "But if the tower falls, does its 'tower-ness' cease, or does it merely transform into a pile of shakers with a history of being a tower?"
Kevin returned with their "food": a plain bun for Elara, an empty plate for Alistair, and a single, perfectly golden fry for Bea. The ontologists, however, were too engrossed in their philosophical debate to notice the lack of actual sustenance. They had found their meaning not in the meal, but in the delicious, infinite permutations of its being.