No, Your iPhone Isn’t Listening to You. But the Truth Is Even Worse

The bartender’s first hoot is so clean and high-pitched it sounds piped in from the ceiling speakers — a single whooo that slices through the post-punk and clinking glassware. My friend Michael jolts on his barstool, beer sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“Did you hear that owl?” he whispers.

“Not an owl,” I say, matter-of-factly, wiping condensation from my glass before it drips onto the bar. The bartender, in his mid-30s with slicked-back hair and an immaculate black apron, lets out another…