Jake Bailey: Imagining healthy medical office zeal

It's all about unity in one medical-related business set-up. Photo / Supplied

Around the corner from my apartment is a block of medical practising rooms. They're all lumped together in the same building to make a little mini-medical precinct- a pathology lab, a GP, a physio, a dietician, a podiatrist and a dentist.

Some remnants of childish wonder within me hopes they are all friends who wanted to be able to see each other at work every day. They bumble into the office every morning and greet each other with British accents and a zest for life that exists only in children's shows and the day before the Christmas holidays, as a warm golden froth of summer's early morning rolls over the city.

It is a setting within a children's book or show: "Postman Pat Visits the Doctor", where the ailments will be minor, and treatments will be painless and swiftly effective.

Or maybe it's the set of a "Friends"-style sitcom. They all flatted together throughout medical school, and couldn't bear the thought of being parted with their lifelong friends after their studies were complete, resolving instead to buy a building together so they could spend every day of the rest of their working lives in the loyal, friendly, comedic company of each other.

In reality they probably have never met before they were lumped together by fate into this stuffy block of shops. They stiffen up internally as a colleague enters the staff room, glancing down at the stainless-steel benchtop to avoid conversation as they stir trim milk into instant coffee.

The sharing of premises probably helps lighten the load of student debt that keeps them pinned flat-backed, wide-eyed late into the night. The receptionist will be as lukewarm and flat as the diet drink she sips loudly, and the upholstery of the waiting-room chairs will be of light enough colour to show stains.

Noddy will pluck toys freely from the children's toy box and place them in his mouth whilst mother looks at Instagram and swears at her other child who misbehaves.

Or perhaps neither, or both, or something in between - I haven't stuck my head through the door there before.

They must be doing all right for themselves though, because out on the street they have a sign towering so greatly that it is simply out of place - a colossus much like that which you might see outside a mall or shopping centre that displays the logos of the stores within. Maybe they got a good deal on a second-hand one which was designed for a much larger building. This one however displays only words- PHYSIO, PATHOLOGY, DOCTORS, and so on.

It's effective at catching your eye, not only because of its triumphant size, but because the font of each job title is different. They are different colours, sizes, and styles.

I'm not sure if they all arrived at different times and added their profession to the board while neglecting to consult each other on which sign writer they should use, or if they all refused to be outdone by one another, or if they conspired to capture full attention from the niche market of perfectionists who drive past each day and tense up at the ransom-note collage of career titles, but it works regardless.

The physio is a woman I'm fairly sure, because the sign that says physio is italic, linked, and adorned with a flower in two corners, on a turquoise background. The GPs are rather suave, with a thin, straight modern typeface more suited to an advertising agency, contrasted on a plain white background.

But the podiatrist and dentist are either the same person (at which point you'd be thinking hand hygiene is more imperative than ever before), or they got good two-for-one deal on the sign, because they are the only two titles to share a font, a colour, even a board on the sign. A board which flows too perfectly and gives too much unity to the two roles. A sign that reads "PODIATRY DENTIST".

I know where I'll be going next time I put my foot in my mouth.