It’s The Pitts: Spying Eyes
I hate George Eastman and his darned cameras.
Although French Scientist Joseph Nicéphore Niépce is credited with having invented the first camera in 1826, Eastman was the sicko one could say “developed” the first commercially successful camera in 1888.
Some people called his invention a “roll film box,” but Eastman called it Number One Kodak and its successors have tormented me my entire life.
In order to get photos from Eastman’s camera, a person had to send the camera containing the film to Rochester, N.Y., where the film was developed, prints were made, the camera was loaded with new film and returned, along with the photos.
So, one can understand why the sighting of a camera back then was a rare occurrence.
Fast forward to today, and a person can hardly turn around without having their picture taken. For an ugly guy like me who has always hated having his picture taken, one can imagine why I spit on the grave of George Eastman.
The eyes are everywhere.
Cameras take your picture if you run through an orange-reddish light, and the cops send you a ticket in the mail.
A guy can’t even go into Victoria’s Secret to buy a birthday present for his wife without being watched by a camera.
A person can’t run through their own house half naked after leaving their manure-stained clothes in the mudroom as they head for the shower without someone taking a picture which will appear on some sicko’s YouTube page and get a million views.
People aren’t even safe from spying eyes out in the boonies, as some animal rightists with a drone will take a photo of them castrating a bull or spurring their horse.
Sure, I know all of these cameras leering at us can be used for good.
I know Ring cameras have been used to track assassins and arsonists and people can see who is stealing their Amazon packages from miles away, but I’m not sure the benefits outweigh the loss of our freedom and privacy.
I’ve been in embarrassing predicaments before and I’m sure you have too where the last thing you wanted was to have someone catch a “Kodak moment” – like the time I got bucked off the kid’s horse.
They even have cameras now in the halls of hospitals, and I dread being photographed by some peeping Tom while I’m wearing one of those hospital gowns with the gaping hole in the back.
How many prints does a person want of themselves with their arm fully inserted into a cow’s rectum, dragging a calf to the fire or trying to eat one of those six patty hamburgers?
I was in Farm Supply the other day trying to find a new jacket for my wife and I held a frilly one up to my chest to see how big it was, and I’m quite confident someone snapped a photo of me trying on women’s wear which they’ll use to blackmail me.
The main thing I worry about is being caught on camera doing something that will land me in the hoosegow. I’m not talking about robbing a bank, but what if I’m caught on film standing next to shady characters like my congressman, banker or a cow buyer?
Will the Environmental Protection Agency fine me if some eye in the sky takes a photo of me accidentally spilling a thimble full of diesel on the ground or peeing on an endangered tree when I’m far from the nearest facilities?
Will I be shunned if I’m caught eating chicken, putting recyclables in my regular trash or shooting pool when I should have been going to church?
The idea of cameras everywhere would be a lot more palatable to me if they were placed in the smoke-filled backrooms catching congresspersons being paid off by lobbyists or cop cameras were attached to wolves so we’d have photos of them in the act of killing lambs or munching on a baby calf.
I fear the day when I’m using the Porta Potty at a bull sale and one of my traitorous traveling comrades sees the opportunity for a photo op, so he opens the door and catches me with my pants down around my ankles and he says, “Say cheese,” and that photo will be on TMZ or all over the internet by nightfall.
