A guest in a traditional Southern home, now a comfortable inn, I was sitting and musing — not to put too fine a point on it — on the toilet. The bathroom wasn’t private, but only in the sense that it was in a public area and any guest could use it. At the time, though, it was mine, at least until I unlocked the door.
Without warning, a startling “click!” interrupted my reverie and disrupted my composure. Spooked, I looked toward the sound and spotted a sinister device that was almost hidden from view across from me in the narrow space between the sink and the wall. It appeared to have an eye or a lens, and in far less time than it takes to write this, I thought of the ineluctable surveillance cameras that dog us everywhere, recording every move, taking note of height, clothing, headgear, companions — everything. In fact, I had just taken part in a discussion about the complete loss of any remaining shred of privacy in the 21st century. Continue reading




