Categorization. The world is full of it.
From plonking the drivers of certain cars into certain social categories (over here, driving a Commodore makes you a Bogan, while driving a Falcon makes you a Boof Head), to slotting people into personality stereotypes by way of clothing.
People love to have a box for everyone they encounter.
Eve players are not exceptional in this regard.
Miner, ratter, explorer, PVPer, trader, industrialist, pirate, wormholer, faction warfarer.
Care Bear, Ganker, F1 monkey, pet, Leet PVP wanker, griefer, lowsec E-peener.
And, as the saying goes, many more.
Every name conjures up a mental image, every title, an expectation.
How about this one, then; what comes to mind when I say the word renter?
“Ah!” You say, “Easy money.”
And not without reason, either.
A perusal of pretty much any rental corps kill board will yield similar results.
Lots of expensive losses, a few rare interceptor kills (usually by accident – AFKtars really are OP), and not much else.
And then along came 30Plus.
Hmm, indeed…
What can I say? A look at our kill board would give most people a headache.
Our CEO having a bad day results in a Vargur plus bling fleet being flown through a wormhole to Provi to be killed by an armor HAC gang of very confused Provi locals.
Thanking them for a good fight after they spent 2 minutes adding billions to their kill board could hardly have clarified anything for the poor sods.
He said he felt a lot better afterwards.
As we hover 5 members shy of the 600 threshold, things just keep getting more and more abstract.
I’ve never been involved in anything like this corp.
I’ve been told that there are others out there, which is even more disturbing.
We have recently rented a fourth system. Big whoop, you might say, but hang on a minute, there’s more.
We rented this distant system, not to rat in, oh no. Not to mine in, either.
We rented it to stage from.
“Hold on, Blastie, hold on. Back the truck up a bit, mate,” you say, and I can’t blame you.
Renter pets don’t “Stage” anything.
And to a degree you’d be right.
This is not a staging system for fleet ops.
I mean, a 30Plus FC’s job is akin to someone with no arms herding cats in a room full of budgies.
The command to hold on the out gate is, apparently,  actually a subliminal message to our CEO to go three systems ahead and tackle a Ragnarok with a Velator.
No, when I say this new acquisition is for us to stage out of, what I really mean is, it’s somewhere for us to store ships, mods and loot in while we run around shooting at things and/or being shot at.
I am responsible for this latest tangent, it was my idea – guilty as charged.
I envisaged a scenario where a mere handful of us, those who have lately come out from behind the fridge when baddies turn up, would put an alt down there and have a bit of fun.
Wrong. Very, very wrong.
It seems to me that half the corp has at least one toon down there already, jump freighters full of ships and equipment are rolling up at all hours and the kill board is filling up with more green than red.
The home systems seem just as busy, but with so many people having alts that’s not too surprising.
I don’t think the locals know what to make of all these old blokes having a digital midlife crisis in their midst.
I know the local hostiles are confused.
Threats of our imminent eviction ring a bit hollow when there’s bugger all to gank.
Even more so seeing as how we’re killing their own cloaky haulers and DED site running ships.
Of course, we are giving them kills, too. But there’s nary a PVE ship among them.
Maybe we need a new box created for us.
MLC CareBear, perhaps?
No matter what the label may be that gets pinned upon our breast, I can assure you of one thing.
Renters we are and renters we shall remain. Just a…well, variation, I guess you could say.
Okay, so we enjoy getting out and blowing things up, but some bloke telling us who, when or how to blow those things up?
Gimme a break.
There’s a saying in the live music scene; if it’s too loud, you’re too old.
Well, when it comes to a bunch of old blokes running around nullsec blazing away at anything remotely not blue; if it doesn’t make sense, you’re too young, I guess.


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