I didn’t apply for a job at my local one-hour photo lab out of a noble desire to serve the community’s photographic needs. I wanted a part-time job to fund my full-time uni lifestyle – specifically, the kind of money that turned into festival tickets, Dr Martens and Poppy King lipstick.
Rabbit Photo was a mini-lab wedged into the corner of the Westfield Figtree shopping centre like a forgotten Tetris piece. On Thursday nights and Saturday mornings, I’d slip on my white cotton gloves and take my place behind the counter, ready to accept canisters of Fuji film.
