…

I like words.  A lot.  It's very seldom that I find myself at a loss for them.  And yet a conversation I had the other night with a potential recruit left me speechless.  I quite literally stared at the screen, watching trade chat scroll by — not typing — because I couldn't formulate a coherent response (that didn't sound suspiciously like "fuck you and the raptor you rode in on, jackass").

*   *   *

Wednesday, 11:05 PM Server Time

There's a little less than an hour left on the raid clock.  We've knocked out Onyxia's Lair and Trial of the Crusader, but aren't really "feeling" heroic Twins.  (Don't ask me why we didn't start with the Twins, wipe for an hour or two and then flip the dungeon difficulty to Normal for the obligatory loot-go-round.  I was on the bench, remember?) 

So, we do the Vultures-from-Jungle-Book routine in /guild chat for a few excrutiating minutes, and eventually settle on option (d): Sartharion and Cookies.  Needless to say, ten people ask to bring alts and I tell seven people no and three people HELL NO: the point of drake-farming is to actually farm drakes — not gear alts — and our three minute 3D will become a three hour wipefest if we try to carry everyone's newly ding'd rogue, hunter or feral druid through the zone.  Some good-natured grumbling ensues, but we shuffle off to Dragonblight in relatively short order to nab our Other Ret Pally™ a sweet new ride.

A couple of raiders decide to log off for the night, citing things like "girlfriend aggro" and "class in three hours" (THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR LIVING IN ARGENTINA, HEART.  How many times do I have to tell you to move to a time zone more conducive to raiding?! /shakesfist), so I sub in from my seat on the bench and offer our last DPS spot to non-raiding Friends & Family members.  There doesn't seem to be much interest in /g (we run this every week, after all; everyone who wants the title already has it [and there's a minimum attendance requirement for rolling on the drake]), so one of our mages asks if his brother's hunter can tag along. 

Sure, no problem.  Keaton tosses the hunter — let's call him "Z." — a raid invite.

I'm distantly aware (as in: I know it, but I'm not actually thinking about it at the time — if that makes sense?) that Z. has recently transferred factions and applied to raid, but I haven't had a chance to sit down and look at his application (or, rather, ask Lupius to look at his application because the only thing I know about hunters is that playing one in the untwinked level 40 bracket of WSG is ridiculously fun).

We zone in, toss buffs at each other and run around in circles just inside the instance portal.  I'm not exactly sure what we're waiting for, but whatever it is, it's taking too long.  I decide to prove that I am truly "that shaman" by running up to the first trash pack and casting Chain Lightning.  The tanks and other healers save me, as I knew they would, annnnnnd — we're off!

Our DK is bored (and slightly annoyed that he isn't on one of his fifty million alts) so he decides to run ahead of the raid, pulling new mobs and kiting them back to the rest of us.  He played a hunter for most of TBC, so we trust him not to wipe us and just roll with it. 

... Of course, we outgear Obsidian Sanctum and no one is taking the retro-style raid seriously, so the DPS pull aggro from our rage-starved tanks.  The warriors and retadins take turns dying, and our cranky rogue (not to be confused with our caustic rogue or our Nice Guy rogue) manages to evasion tank a Sanctum Guardian.  "Worst trash ever," he growls on Vent.  Meanwhile, Keaton is also snarling — in frustration, because the overeager DPS are hitting things before he is — but I'm giggling like a madwoman, because I've been benched all night and am happy to be raiding and just tired enough from a long day at work to find the entire thing hilarious.

Somewhere in the midst of this, the DK accidentally pulls Vesperson.  A cry goes up on Vent and we all hightail it towards the exit.  A few people and our handsome tree (/whistle Forrest) manage to zone out, but most of us are still running when Vesperon resets.  We start to head back.  Then one of the warriors accidentally pulls Vesperon again — sending the Superforsaken Azargoth into peels of pixelated laughter — and we flee again.  As we're regrouping by the instance portal, someone points in a thoroughly annoyed, you-people-need-to-grow-the-hell-up-and-let-me-go-to-bed-sooner-rather-than-later voice out that we could just go counter-clockwise around the Sanctum and avoid Vesperon altogether. 

Oh, okay.

We do so, clear the last of the trash and pull Sartharion with no further mishaps. 

Three seconds into the fight, Z. eats a void zone and dies.  SPLAT, dead hunter.  But it's no big deal: we've 22-manned Sarth 3D before and aren't worried about the DPS loss (although I do feel kind of sorry for him; it must be embarassing to die to something so glaringly obvious with a guild you're hoping to join).

Three minutes later, Sartharion is dead, Rosaly is flapping around Dragonblight on his new Twilight Drake and I'm rezzing a dead hunter.  (Using my rezz macro, which — due to a clever word association — never fails to make Keaton lose the Game.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't ask.  Please.)

As the raid disbands, Z. sends me a tell: "You the GM?"   Yep.  "Cool."  He proceeds to remind me that he's filled out an application and is very interested in getting in on some raids.  ":)"

At this point, I'm rather enchanted by his use of proper capitalization and punctuation.  The 's are nice, too; I like happy people!  So it's with a twinge of genuine regret that I inform Z. we just don't have a opening for a hunter.  Even if I were to invite him, the best he could hope for — given our current make up — is a standby position.  He replies that at this point in his life, that's actually ideal; he would love the freedom to raid casually.

I hesitate.  This is definitely not the impression I've gotten from his application.  "How about a Friends & Family invite?" I ask, feeling him out.  We currently raid with three hunters, I explain (truthfully), and it would be disrespectful to them overrecuit the class.  

Now it's Z.'s turn to hesitate.  "Would I be considered for a promotion if I were Friends & Family?" 

"Sure, if a raid spot opens up.  We'd definitely consider you before looking outside the guild.  I'm sure there would be some fill-in opportunities as well," I go on to say, "and of course you'd be able to run 10-mans on offnights."

"I don't know," he /whispers.  "It would be hard to take getting passed over for someone like..."  He names our newest hunter.  "Especially since I actually know what I'm doing."

Angry Sari mode: engaged!

I am very protective of my guild and everyone — okay, almost everyone — who wears my tag.  And I actually like our new hunter, although I'll admit his performance thus far hasn't exactly wow'd me.  Still, he has a great attitude and it seems like he'll fit in well with us.  Given that, we're willing to work with his gear outside of hardmodes and give him ample opportunities to improve.

"Our new hunter is an initiate," I tell Z. (although I'm fairly certain he knows that already).  "I don't know the class well enough to discuss what you think he's doing wrong.  But given that he transferred servers to join us, I'm going to give him a fair trial — and that means not benching him in favor someone new before he's had a chance to prove himself."

"He can do whatever he pleases," Z. responds.  "And not to be harsh, but I did the same thing."

Excuse me?

"I faction-transferred to raid with you.  I think I deserve the same chance he does." 

...

"Also, I'm much better."

...

(The ellipses are me being speechless.)

OK, seriously.  If you applied for a job out of state, wouldn't you at least wait for an interview — or, better yet, an offer! — before you sold your house, packed up your things and moved?   I really don't see how his premature faction change entitles him to anything from me, and I tell him so. 

Then, because I am seriously insulted, I lie:  "No offense, but all I've seen you do so far is die three seconds into a T7 raid.  I'm really not sure where you get off insulting our raiders after that stellar performance."

Only the first two words were a lie, by the way.  The rest of it was perfectly true (if paraphrased). 

"Funny," comes his laconic response. 

Then, a few minutes later: "But I'm serious about that being willing to raid on standby.  What do you think?"

At this point, I pull Elam into a Vent channel and read the entire conversation out loud to him.  "Can you believe this guy?"  I rail.  "Whe the hell does he think he is?"

Then I did something truly stupid: I /ginvite him.  As Friends & Family, because his brother is a sweetie (for a mage) and I believe that everyone deserves a second chance to make a first impression. 

Yes, I know.  I'm an idiot. 

We'll see how this goes.   As fate would have it, we did recently lose a hunter.  >.>