To do that, you gotta put yourself out there. And in order to put yourself out there, you’ve gotta have an idea of who you are and how people react to that.
A lot of shows during this time stick out in my memory. I did a show in Arizona that was sold-out, and the thing that I remember the most about it was this lady sitting in the front row. She had this mean face. She was mean-mugging me the first ten, fifteen minutes of my set.
I made it my mission to make her laugh, and she would not laugh. It took me like twenty minutes to get her to laugh, and once she did laugh, though, she laughed so hard that snot flew out of her nose. After the show, I went out and danced all night in celebration. I was so proud of myself.
Another time, in the middle of the show, the heel on my shoe broke. So I just did like ten minutes about my shoe, how cheap the shoe was, why the shoe broke, all that. When I came off the stage, this lady came up to me.
Lady: “You were amazing. I peed on myself. I peed on myself.”
Tiffany: “Oh, thank you. How many kids do you have?”
You know, because women be peeing themselves after they have babies.
Lots of bad shows, too. I used to host this room at the San Manuel Casino every Wednesday night, and this one night, a girl was definitely intoxicated. She kept talking through everybody’s set, and I was hosting the show. I kept saying, “Watch yourself. Let everybody enjoy the show. You need to be quiet. Calm down.” After the third comic, she started again, and it went off.
Drunk Girl: “Yo, is this guy gonna be funny? Them others was stupid!!!”
Tiffany: “Look, I’m getting tired of you talking to people all disrespectful, and if you don’t quit, you’re gonna have a problem.”
Drunk Girl: “Bitch, you’re gonna have a problem, bitch.”
I went the fuck off. She started gangbanging, throwing up signs and talking crazy, so I started banging back. I ain’t even from no gang, but I start representing my old hood.
Drunk Girl: “Don’t trip. I’ll beat your ass right now, in front of everybody.”
Tiffany: “Come on. Come, beat my ass, bitch!”
At first, people were laughing, ’cause they thought I was just playing. Then I pulled my hair off. I took my shoes off, I took my earrings off. I balled up my fist, all furious, and I started praying into the microphone:
Tiffany: “Heavenly Father, give me the strength and the power to beat this girl down to the ground, and teach her she ain’t never supposed to be this disrespectful to anybody, because I give zero fucks, Lord. Just give me the power to whip her ass. All these things, I ask in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
I guess it was the way I said it, because people stopped laughing.
By the time she got close to the stage, security had grabbed her. Then two big Samoan chicks, who used to come every single week, came down right behind her. And then, these other two black girls that came all the time, they started whaling on her. Security had to drag that girl out, to stop her from getting killed. I was yelling from the stage:
Tiffany: “Bitch, getting your ass beat before you even get to the stage. We beating yo ass right now!!”
Everything got settled, and I introduced the headliner. Poor guy, how’s he gonna follow that shit? And I was so embarrassed. I had prayed out loud, in front of everybody, for the Lord to give me strength to whip a girl’s ass. It was so unprofessional. I was so embarrassed that I went so ghetto, so fast.
When I left from the show, I walked to the police car in the parking lot. It was the car that was taking her to the station, and she was sitting in the back. She was like a rabid dog—mad, face up against the glass, yelling and cussing, and I was like, damn. That was an hour ago, and she’s still crazy like that?
Another really bad night was when I was supposed to host this April Fool’s show in Atlanta. This place held three hundred people, but there was only thirty people there, and they didn’t pay me all my money. I only got half my money, and I had the worst set ever.
They had me thinking it was gonna be so many people, but only thirty people showed up. And then, half of them were my ex-husband’s family members, so it was very embarrassing. And I don’t embarrass easily, obviously. His mom was there, and she was just staring me in the face. It was a horrible show.
Then I fell on the stage. It was bad. I was wearing these pants that looked like leather, but weren’t leather, and I was trying to do this physical joke, where I squat down, like a dance, and then pop back up. I squatted down, and when I popped back up, I slipped and fell, so then my little fake leather pants tore a hole on the knee.
I was trying to play it off like it wasn’t bothering me, and then, two minutes after I fell, I just kicked my shoes off. I just sat on the floor of the stage.
I just gave up. I just sat on the floor, and just talked from the floor, just finished my time from there. I think I had twenty-five minutes left. It was horrible.
No one laughed. People were rolling their eyes. Looking at me crazy. Nobody was laughing. It was not good.
Afterwards, my ex-husband came up to me:
Ex-Husband: “That set, you get a D on that set.”
Tiffany: “I give you an F on being a husband. So suck on that.”
I did a bad show at Howard (a black college) with Tony Rock as the headliner, and me as the featured act. It was like, four thousand black students.
I knew immediately this was going to be a problem. I had never seen this many black young people in one place, ever in my life. In one room, I’ve never seen it. I don’t know why that freaked me out, but it did.
I just tried to stick to my material, just do my material, and it was not hitting. I was too nervous and too scared and they were not feeling me at all. At first, it was real quiet, ’cause they tried to figure it out. I don’t even remember the first joke I hit ’em with, but it didn’t hit at all. That was horrible.
I did the punchline, and nobody laughed, and I just was looking like a deer in the headlights. This one dude from the audience spoke up.
Guy: “It’s all right, though, you fine. At least you look good.”
Tiffany: “You got that right. Some of y’all get a female comic, and she don’t be funny, and she be ugly, too. At least I ain’t ugly.”
And then one of the girls sitting next to him said in a real bitchy voice:
Girl: “Yeah, whateva.”
They were all on their phones, chilling there, giving attitude. That chick, she was just on her phone the whole time, just texting. She was sitting right in the front, so I could see her real good. If I saw her in the streets today, I would still know her right away.
I was supposed to get paid $2500 for that show, and when I came off the stage, they had already called my manager. My manager called me fifteen minutes after I got off the stage, and he was like:
Manager: “They’re only gonna give you $500 for this show. They said it was pretty bad.”
Tiffany: “Yeah, it was pretty bad. I’m cool with that.”