Originally Posted by Pedestrian

For the past nine months, I have been playing mind games with the unfortunate friends and colleagues of one enterprising young auto mechanic who once failed to pay his cell phone bill. In the riveting sequel to I'm Not Drew, one college student with the gift for levity investigates a small-time criminal, but takes on more than his name when she assumes his identity in:


Jesus Christ, I'm Veronica Mars.

Fade in to: Christmas morning, and I'm sitting with my cup of coffee, when I receive a new message from Drew's private circle.

Unknown: Merry Christmas!
Self: Merry Christmas to you too!

It seemed jovial enough, but little did I know, I was about to get a clearer picture of Drew's dark side. Some weeks later I receive a new opportunity to prove that I am the Ken Jennings of automotives.

Unknown: My battery isn't starting, what do you think it is?
Self: It could be a lot of things.
Unknown: It's probably a loose wire or something.
Self: Yes, it's that.
Unknown: Got it, thanks!

I have been receiving so many voicemails and texts for Drew that at this point, I have to start labeling his contacts in my own address book, which is now half-full of names such as Not Drew Al, Not Drew Creditor, Not Drew Landlord, and now Not Drew Truck Owner.

These incidents go interspersed with voicemail messages left for Drew (recall that my recording is "I'm NOT Drew. Nooooooot Drew. This isn't Drew, and Drew's not here") by various credit agencies around the valley.

Creditor: Hello, this is Valley One Credit leaving a message for Drew Corb--

Oh, not this shit again, this costs me money. Message deleted.

Creditor: Hello, this is CIBC calling for James Andrew--

Well now, that's interesting. This is now the third name for Drew I've heard left on my voicemail. Based on the frequency and urgency of calls, it would seem that Drew's been grifting a number of businesses around the city for months now.

More and more, it's sounding like Drew is the kind of guy I don't want to be.

New Unknown: It's five thirty. You got what I need today?
Self: What's up man?
New Unknown: You gonna meet me at the sails across from Dino's?

I know from past encounters that Drew is a part-time drug dealer, and it's obvious that this new number is a customer. Dino's, though. That sounds familiar. I went to an awkward birthday party where alcohol was banned and food was overpriced at a lounge called Dino's a couple months ago.

I hop on Google maps, and look up Dino's. I stand in the street, and do a rotation. Sure enough, there it is. A giant fountain sailboat.

Self: Yeah I'll meet you. Just let me put on some pants.
Customer: What? Lol, OK?

If you thought I was actually going to go and meet Drew's client, then you've both overestimated my curiosity and underestimated my intelligence, but it's not long before I receive another breakthrough in the case.

Not Drew Truck Owner: Go take a look at that yellow truck in front of Del Ando's!
Self: Holy shit!

I figure that whether this truck is a thing of beauty or a bag of ass, that ought to cover it.

Not Drew Truck Owner: I know, right? Hahahahaha!

Nailed it. But this gets me thinking. If Truck Owner knows that Drew is going to be in one place long enough to send him a text and tell him to look outside, it means that Drew is either expected to be at home or at work.

Google maps. Del Ando's. It's a towing place in a warehouse district on the opposite side of town. I travel up and down the street for a minute, looking at the scant few businesses across the street. Towing. Recycling. Motorcycles. Auto mechanic.

There it is. I know where Drew works.

My personal neo-noir adventure takes an amusing turn however, and before I have a chance to stalk Shady Drew like I'm Dexter, I receive the most tickling update yet as a voicemail (Note: "I'm not Drew. Nooooooooot Drew").

Lady: Hi Drew, give me a call back. It's your mom.

In my haste to replay the message for my roommate, I call Drew's Mom back like a knob, and hang up on her abruptly. The phone buzzes. A new voicemail ("Nooooooooot Drew").

Drew's Mom: Hi there Drew, I don't know what happened, but call me back, it's your mom.

So, to recap, Drew is a shady auto mechanic, part-time drug dealer with a constellation of names and obviously bad credit. He works across the river, but lives close enough to town to make "The Sails" a convenient meeting place to deal drugs. He eats hot wings on Wednesdays with a guy called Al in a pub with a hair-metal pun for a name, but he can't be bothered calling his mum to give her his new number because he's a crap son.







May or may not be dead.