Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

I was once distinctly unsettled by a utility man who called to read the gas meter. We were living in an old house at the time and I was home alone with the youngest child (who was around six months old), balanced on my hip as I opened the door. The visitor looked genuine, dressed in the expected uniform. He was around 6.3 and probably not the most tidily presented utility man I'd met, but I believed him to be genuine and willingly invited him in out of the foul weather. It was pouring down outside, a freezing cold winter's day. As I closed the door I remembered that I should have asked to see his company I.D. , so as I opened the meter cupboard and switched on the light, I politely said, 'Oops, I should have asked to see your I.D. if you don't mind?. He stood there in front of the door and made no move to produce his card or do anything in fact. He just glared down at me in the most menacing way and said in a very sinister voice 'Isn't it a little bit late for that now? What are you going to do if I tell you I don't have it?'.
There was an embarrassed silence. He continued to stare down at me without making a move for what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds. He didn't produce his I.D., instead he almost grudgingly read the meter as I looked on and then he swiftly left without saying goodbye. I closed the door and locked it, and then took a while to get my pulse rate back to normal and to realise I'd just learned a very big lesson. Such a creepy individual, I didn't make that mistake again. Question: Who was 6 foot, 3 inches?
The utility worker.

I was driving on Highway 35 on my way home from work. Up in front of me was a giant billboard advertising yet another jeweler, in ten-foot letters and bright silver watches like massive alien machines. The traffic slowed and stopped on the ramp as it bottlenecked further into the city, and my head turned to examine the sign and the blocked view of the cityscape and land beyond. Past it was another billboard, with the name of a casino as its only text, filled with collaged images of money, plush rooms, and dancers. A quarter mile further brought me to an advertisement for business management solutions. Another few hundred yards and I was urged to try the new sandwich at the new sandwich place. The sun set and the signs stayed bright as automatic light switched on.
The city grew dark and the hills beyond feebled out, existing only in our minds and finally not even there. All that remained were the well-lit and shiny reminders that lawyers were standing by to take my case to court, and that somebody's air conditioners would outlast somebody else's.
I had an idea.
I made the call the next day. It would put me back a good half grand, but it would be worth it. There would be no design meeting; I sent them the image and it was printed. A few weeks later it went up.
Now on my commute, when I paused in the crush of metal bodies, I looked up and saw mountains by Maxfield Parrish, reaching up to the clouds in impossible cragginess, rivulets and gushing streams painted down their sides, with the sun striking vibrant oranges and reds into the shadows of the rocks. There were trees in copper-patina green and still pools quieter than the middle of winter but warm as the first day of summer.
No doubt people thought it was the first part of a two-stage advertising gimmick, or a filler to be used when no one was renting space on the sign. But I was happy. Question: Who drives on Highway 35?
The narrator.

I once went out to have fun with a friend of a different nationality, and she wanted to go to a place that featured the music of her culture. Since I have always been interested in other cultures, I was happy to go along. While we were sitting at a table together, an older man came up and asked to buy me a drink. I told him "no thank you, I do not drink". My arm was laying on top of the booth because I was sitting sideways since my big old pregnant belly would not fit under the table. He reached over and took my hand and said " Come dance with me then". I again told him I was not interested in dancing. He began to squeeze my hand and insisting I get up and dance with him. I kept telling him no, and pointing to my belly and saying I would not be dancing with anyone. He just kept squeezing my hand harder and trying to pull me out of the booth. I got angry when I felt something break in my hand and screamed at him "Get your effing hands off me!" The bar owner came over to see what the problem was. I explained that "this jerk just hurt my hand because I would not drink or dance with him!" The owner looked at me crying, and the man laughing, and kicked my friend and I out of the place! Seems the rude SOB was his best friend. I got a bad taste for places of that culture (although I do love the cuisine) and a broken bone in my left hand for my trouble. She and I never went out again because she was so embarrassed about what the guy did to me, but she did take me to the ER on the way home. Question: Who wanted to hear "the music of her culture?"
The friend did!