You think about it, Red Shirt had to be one of the best Star Trek acting gigs. You memorize few if any lines, you walk around some, you fade out when they zap you, and boom, paid the rent on your cheap 1960s California garage apartment. Then you're in the system for future work in Time Portal, Land of the Giants, or hell, let em smear more make-up on you and be a Klingon.
Fast forward, you're old, you're broke, you want to go to your estranged daughter's wedding in Florida because, hell, you gotta do SOMETHING right in this life, right? Google sci-fi conventions, oh, there's one right there in Orlando that weekend. They pay your ticket, you jet in, put on an XXL red tshirt, lie about shenanigans on the set to a bunch of slobbering fans, hit the hotel bar with a person dressed as Eowyn for when they do a walrus version of LOTR, charge it all to your room, and you remember-- just in time-- wedding! So Walrus Eowyn pours you into her PT Cruiser, larps some Richard Petty, and you show up at the Salem Church of Christ just in time to puke free Laphroaig all over the blood-red carpet as your daughter cries. Well maybe it's your daughter, not like you'd recognize her voice.
Ah, Red Shirts.