The Person I'm Next To Has Found My Private Parts Wanting

I'm next to this old guy. He is peeking at me from a doorway, I can see the left half of him and only for about 20 seconds. My brief view of him provides me with the following details. He has a faded flannel shirt under a red cardigan, high khaki slacks and grey neatly combed hair. He is leaning in the door looking at me, looking at me and weighing me; and I am sorry to say he has found me lacking.
I should mention a few details about myself here, number one: I am peeing. Peeing appropriately mind you, in a public restroom, in one of those aptly named devices, a urinal. To my right is a stall, an empty stall and it is here the true disdain the old man has for me becomes apparent.
I feel his gaze on my back like in a grocery store romance novel, a bodice ripper. I turn, my eyes meet his, his hand clenches around the door frame, mine remains where it is, directing the flow of my urine politely down the drain. His eyes walk up and down me, he takes in every part of me in a few seconds, he lays bare my soul with those eyes. Then he looks at the open stall next to me. He grunts scornfully, then shaking his head he turns and walks out of my life. Perhaps forever this time.
Why didn't he go to the stall? Obviously, he is past the age of bathroom shyness, or else he wouldn't have stared at me like that. Even if he was pee shy there is a small metal room full of nothing but privacy for him to use. There is only one part of the equation that is different from any other trip to a half full public restroom. Me, I am the X variable, and apparently X=me=this old man doesn't pee where he normally would.
Seriously though he had elevator eyes, up and down, and right back up.

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