Flying the friendly skies?

This is a long holla because sexual harassment is complex. I took a flight from Boston to San Francisco via Detroit on Friday. This seemed simple, and because of the long journey, I dressed down - kinda hipster, kinda comfy. Now, there are two ways (at least for this explanation) to look at someone. As I sat in the plane, sixth row, everyone passing me to get to their seats, the awkward looks started. These were not the staring-off-into-space glances you might get as people walk by with nowhere else to look. These were stares. At me. And my body. After I'd already endured the mass of hostile, middle-aged men who were the "elite" fliers that had mobbed the gate prior to boarding, I was pretty fed up. But I figured the worst was over. I was wrong. About twenty minutes before the end of the flight, I felt eyes on me again. I looked up, and across the aisle, my eyes met those of a man who was apparently trying to stare into my soul. We were only separated by two other guys (neither of whom was inappropriate), but after sending over dirty looks and angry stares back, I finally took this: It was perhaps the one time he'd bothered to look away. Next time, dude, look out the window you're so lucky to sit next to. You made an otherwise innocuous flight awkward and stupid - two things you undoubtedly are. Ass.