Ran a FL 10 with my new guild. It was an oddball assemblage of some guildies, a guy that the raid leader knew, and an additional pug or 3.
The guy that the raid leader knew quickly turned in to the new raid leader. Well mannered, unfailing polite, and very patient. (Which was very good as several people had not been in FL before, were new to raiding, and someone thought it was a good idea to attempt heroics with this set up.) He mentioned nearly 20 years in the military so I’m going to assume early 40s or close thereabouts.
The run was eventually ended when we lost a fire mage doing 13k on Rhyolith. (His 4% extra hit, missing gems, nonexistent enchants (except for the hit enchant!), and zero knowledge of the encounters might have had something to do with his performance.) He stepped out on his own accord after stating he was afraid he was bringing us down.
As it was Monday night, we were hard pressed to find a replacement. But we did give it a valiant effort and during the intermission, our raid-leading tank had ample time to liberally sample the contents of a rum bottle. By the time we gave up he was rather blitzed. (What is it with drunk tanks?)
And he stayed in vent with us after the run ended.
I was attempting to coach our disc priest on some of the finer nuances of disc healing (I will break your fingers if I catch you casting Flash Heal again! OK, I wasn’t that blunt but I did tell him it was silly.)
This kindly gentleman then started saying some of the oddest things.
In the same breath, he told me that I was a “rare flower,” a “great mage,” that I had a “calming and motherly air,” and the “power to change the course of a raid.” I think there was even a “great power, great responsibility” snippet thrown in with something about the “power of the vagina.”
As far as I can tell, he said it all with a straight face and was not struck down by lightning. Thank god for push to talk, though, because I was busting up.
I was getting whispers from guild master and her fiance, both offering to boot the guy from vent if he was too much of a problem.
If only all harassment we saw was a kind-hearted drunk man talking about our leadership potential and skill, even if it was incredibly corny and slightly slurred.
The conversation moved on to my voice (“a breath of fresh air” – seriously, are you laughing as hard as I was?) and how it could impact a raid if I spoke up more.
(And if by some freak chance the gentleman is reading this post, please bear in mind we’re not laughing at you so much as the very idea that any of these flattering words would ever be seriously used to describe me.)
I replied that in pugs, I tended to not speak up as the usual pre-pubescent response to a woman’s voice is “TITTIES IN VENT!” and there is the potential for distracting the raid.
OMG. Did I actually manage to offend the drunk guy?
No, just turned out he (and a few others) were struggling for breath through their laughter at my remark. Apparently I made his day with that one.
So, ladies, if you would like to bring a vent channel crashing to its knees, simply announce upon your arrival, “TITTIES IN VENT!”
Because with the great power of the vagina comes great responsibilities.