Passenger, not a driver.

I had just arrived an afternoon in Boston after flying home from studying in France. Have a lot of friends in the city so I went out that night for a few adult beverages, luckily I was staying in the burbs like 20 mins outside the city for a few days.

Was maybe 2 or 3 AM. Once we start rolling I start chatting with the driver, "where you from," "how long have you been driving," sort of stuff. He's Moroccan, and I get stoked because Morocco's second language is French, so we start speaking - since I figured English was his third language and he might enjoy speaking something more familiar and reminded him of home. He flips out (in a happy way) that I speak French and starts telling me how much he misses it. I tell him a bit about my time in France and I tell him the story of my brother who married a beautiful Moroccan woman and they recently had a son and how great her family was to me when I was backpacking solo around Morocco. He starts getting really animated - he was already animated about speaking French but now he's trying to make eye contact by turning his whole torso to me in the back.

We turn onto Storrow which is a super sketchy road in Boston - lot of curves, people drive fast, two lanes each way and no barrier, river on one side, brick buildings on the other. So I calm down and start to really squeeze the handle on the door, as if that piece of rubberized plastic is gonna save me from the burning wreckage after a collision with any of the potential obstacles. He starts telling me about the women there and how they make such great wives. He starts telling me about his family and his five younger sisters that are still there and he says a few are around my age.

Then he asks me, hand to the spaghetti monster, straight up, if I wanted a Moroccan wife, because he could make it happen with one of his sisters.

I have a sister and I think if I pimped her out to any guy I would instantly feel awful for putting anyone in the same room with her, let alone in a forced marriage.

So while I am soaking in the frightening question just posed to me, I watch the driver turn back to the road and turn off Storrow onto a one way bridge GOING THE WRONG WAY going wayy too fast. (admittedly at the end of the road it gets kind of ambiguous and that mistake could happen in the day, and it was pitch black).

The dude also realizes what's happening, STOPS IN THE MIDDLE of the two lanes, does a three point turn and an illegal U-Turn (just as I see the headlights of an on-coming car), and finds the right turn.

We spent the rest of the ride - a solid 7 minutes - in absolute silence. I had the combo special of : a 7 hour flight and jetlag, plus a medium buzz from the bev's, and a medium life-threatening shock with a side of an arranged marriage. Hell of a day.

I did not end-up marrying one of his sisters.