
Poor Tiffany doesn’t get any respect. When she left home at 16 because her mother’s new husband kept making lewd comments about her developing figure, she thought she’d put the worst of her life behind her. She stayed in Las Vegas for six months, until someone noticed that her birth certificate had white-out on it, then was back on the road. Los Angeles seemed like the place for this poor farm girl from Iowa to make a stab at getting somewhere with her life, and she was lucky enough to find a way in to a runaway shelter there. They got her back in school, and within a year she had her diploma and an academic scholarship to study graphic design at UC-Irvine.
Sadly, that didn’t mean the road ahead was paved with gold. Her mom died. Her step-father started leaving her creepy telephone messages. Her grades suffered. Before long, she was out one academic scholarship and in desperate need of funding. A friend told her about exotic dancing. It was hard, given her rocky emotional state, but she found she had a knack for it, and could earn more than enough money to keep herself in school.
The morning everyone woke up to the spaceships, she had been putting together a portfolio for class and happened to have some poster board and paints left over. Her first draft was, sadly, a bit of a mess. She kept looking out the window of her small but tastefully-furnished apartment at the spaceship hovering over downtown, trying to imagine what kind of people they would be, and so she smeared a few letters and didn’t quite get everything laid out just as she would like. But the second time around, she managed something really nice, and she was really proud of it. She couldn’t wait to get to work and show it off to the girls.
Jasmine was there, and gave her a big lecture. That was a bummer, and it really hurt Tiffany’s feelings. But not long after Jasmine left, Randi came in from doing her set and she really lifted her spirits. Randi always had such kind things to say to her, and she really praised the sign she’d made. She told her flat out, that if she didn’t go downtown and have a good time and show her sign off, she’d regret it for the rest of her life. “How many times you think something like this is gonna happen, girlfriend?” she had said.
Of course, it didn’t turn out so well, but that’s another story. My point is, you really don’t need to give the poor girl a hard time just because of her job. She had a lot of good qualities, and deserves to be remembered better.