I am a fucking stooge

I am a fucking stooge.
Do you want to know why I am a fucking stooge?
I have agreed, being the generally lovable, amiable, good-natured, kind [that frickin word again] lass that I am, to work late. I have agreed to work late for the next two nights [because kiddies, I don’t actually work days, I work afternoons and evenings]. Late means till about 10. Late means getting home, by public transport, at about 11.30 [yay public transport] to a [relatively] dodgy part of the city. You may understand some of my dismay at this prospect.
Fuck me, but I should have learned to drive. Fuck me, but I should spend half my annual income maintaining an environmentally evil, cash nazi-nasty of a ve-hic-le.
In short, I suck for being such a stooge. I am fucked off for agreeing to this shit. I am fucked off at never working just my rostered shifts – there always has to be a last minute change or an extra hour or two or three or an extra day swapped for this day or that day. I suck for agreeing to it. I suck for not saying,‘hey, you put me in an unfair position. I don’t have to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t need to do this’. I’m sure it’s all about conscience. I have betrayed myself. I have shown my conscience and will, now and forever, be forced to pay for my weakness. [Evil laugh, I’m sure.]
This is something I plan to rectify in my next [hopefully not joe] job. [Fark it. No more stooge jobs. I have a degree dammit. I want a job with a title that fails to reveal the banality and lowliness of my position.][Dream on, girl, dream on.]