Sartre wasn't simply grumbling about annoying neighbors—he was identifying something more unsettling: our freedom evaporates the moment another person looks at us. In their gaze, we become an object with fixed qualities, trapped in how *they* see us, which is precisely what makes us suffer. Consider the difference between dancing alone in your room and dancing in front of someone judging you; the music hasn't changed, but your sense of possibility has collapsed. What troubles him isn't other people's cruelty so much as their mere existence, which transforms us from infinite potential into something definite.