This afternoon I found myself sitting in Bridgnorth hospital awaiting an X-ray. It is, like just about every hospital department I’ve been to, the domain of capable women. Mothers of the NHS, the women who can.
But these women, long on responsibility, long on practicality, long on care, can be short on patience. The whole department is littered with the signs of their not wanting to repeat the same old stuff over and over again to the poor punters who stump up the corridor. The signs are there in the sheer number of signs.
Sitting on my own, awaiting my appointment, I noticed that the regulation NHS blue and white plastic sign on the door of the staff toilet (reading “Staff Toilet”) was embellished with a notice typed out in 72pt Comic Sans on a piece of A4 paper: “This is NOT a public toilet”. The word “NOT” was further enhanced with fluorescent marker (now faded).
Behind me, another factual notice (“X-ray results will not be given today, but will be delivered to your GP”) was similarly backed up with the more emotional (and laminated) printout: “Take responsibility for collecting your X-ray’s from your GP”.
Feeling a little chastised, I was struck by the matronising tone. For the love of God just take some responsibility! And evidently I was not alone in being struck by this. In a feeble attempt at defiance, some past patient had taken the time to circle the greengrocer’s apostrophe on “X-ray’s”, the blue biro inadequately marking the laminate.
I myself had been sitting and considering how to guerilla-edit “This is NOT a public toilet”, by deleting all the words and replacing them with the much more useful “Nearest public toilet down the corridor, second left”. A small tonal adjustment, with a judicious sprinkling of fact, to prevent the patients from feeling bad for just wanting to answer nature’s call.
The frustration inherent in these little notices was reduced to its most perfect form on the inside of the heavy lead door of the X-ray room itself. Called in, and waiting for the attendant to verify my X-ray, I saw a small grubby sticker at eye-height, declaring in Times New Roman: PULL.
Imagine the synaptical adjustment that goes on in a person’s head when they’ve just pushed a pull door. Now multiply that by the number of people that must troop through that doorway every day. Imagine the resentment that must build up in you if you’re the poor X-ray attendant who has to not only see but anticipate every single patient on your list doing the same thing – they’re going to push it, I just know they’re going to push it! …Gah!
Indulge me a moment: All of this brings to mind the time back in 2000, when Jols and I registered at a new surgery in Wolverhampton. Here’s what happened: we registered, then within an hour we realised there was a closer surgery, so we went back to retrieve our medical cards. All well and good. But between the surgery and the public highway was a single set of double doors. As is often the case, only one of the doors was unlocked. We passed through those doors on four occasions (in, out, in, out), and – I could blame myself for this – Jols led the way through the doors on all four journeys. The sequence I endured was as follows:
- In: Push the locked one; pull the locked one; push the unlocked one; pull the unlocked one and through.
- Out: Pull the locked one; push the locked one; pull the unlocked one; push the unlocked one and through.
- In: Push the locked one; pull the locked one; push the unlocked one; pull the unlocked one and through.
- Out: Pull the locked one; push the locked one; pull the unlocked one…
It was at this moment that I snapped, and history records that I shouted: “LOOK AND ASSESS!”
It turns out that one of the things I unconsciously do as I approach a set of double doors is to look at the shape of the joinery and where the doorstops are situated, and conclude which door is likely to be unlocked, and which way it might go. I almost always pass through unchecked. This is not something Jols does. She hasn’t the time for that kind of thing. So I understand the frustration, I really do.
It was the tone of these notices that left me feeling prejudged. The world, these women have clearly concluded, is full of idiots.
Maybe the thing to do is what the X-ray attendant actually did, She said: “You’re free to go now; the results will be available from your GP in about 10 days.” That’s right, she accepted that sometimes you have to take the responsibility of speaking.
“Yes,” I said, appreciatively, “I understand that. I’ll be sure to make an appointment.” I had read and absorbed the sign outside. Tick.
I picked up my bag and coat, and pushed the door.
I pulled the door.