Haemoglobin Dot Com
by Bill Kirton
Genre: Horror/Supernatural
Swearwords: None.
Description: Advice from an entrepreneur who achieves complete satisfaction.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Advice from an entrepreneur who achieves complete satisfaction.
When you start a new business, get your priorities straightened out well before you set up shop. It doesn’t matter what you tell the public or Companies House or the Revenue, it doesn’t matter what claims your corporate communications advisers make about your mission statement or company values. What does matter is that you know exactly what you want to get out of it. That’s why it’s called private enterprise.
That was the drive behind my DNA dating site. On the surface, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: a site where people can find Mr, Miss or even Mrs Right. We’ve got all the usual psychological profiling, the questionnaires, our own, in-house compatibility matrix – everything you’d expect from a legitimate dating service. But we’ve also got a clear edge over our competitors thanks to our unique DNA spectrum analyser. That’s what decided me to start the company – not just because it was a good gimmick, but because it was through that that I could get what I wanted. Always remember that. Forget about public service and all that crap. Don’t even worry about shareholders. As long as they get their pennies, you’ll be all right. The important, the only thing about running a business is profit, money in your pocket and all your needs satisfied.
I’ll tell you what I mean.
You read about people coming up with a great idea, Japanese kids in their bedrooms making 3D printers out of Lego and stuff, some Welsh kid who’s invented ultra-authentic tattoos which you can wash off. Word of mouth gets going and they’ve soon got punters with wads of dosh wanting to invest in them. Well, that’s what happened with me. I did my research first. Joined a dating site, sent in an air-brushed photo – made me look so good I even fancied myself. Had about half a dozen tries with the matches they sent me but I might just as well have picked phone numbers out of the directory. It was obviously all random. I asked for non-smokers and got women reeking of that horrible mixture of perfume and stale smoke. I said I preferred brunettes and got girls with heads like rainbows. And of course, the thing I wanted most from them, the reason I took the risk, well, I couldn’t put that in my profile. And even if I did, any normal woman would run a mile.
So all the online dates I had helped to confirm what I’d suspected – that it’s a con. Finding partners isn’t a scientific thing. Romance is a myth, a fiction. And love? Huh. The ultimate self-deception, a desperate hunger for something that’s always beyond reach. Because it’s an illusion, a story we tell ourselves. What interests me are the hungers, or rather, thirsts, that can be satisfied. So, if something doesn’t exist, invent it.
It was my own thing, my own appetite that gave me the idea for the DNA spectrum machine. I made up some stats, quoted researchers in American colleges whose names I also made up, and that was the basis for my pitch. My reasoning was simple enough to sound persuasive. DNA stores biological information, right? So, instead of taking pot luck with a date and finding yourself in a restaurant sloshing back wine while she talks about puppies, you give a DNA sample, we compare it with others in our database and you get paired up on a scientific basis. I know it’s crap but people are desperate.
And when you surround them with the whole medical thing – white coats, syringes, instruments– well, they’re impressed. This isn’t just photo-shopping a picture, this is real. Of course, there’s no need for any of it. We could get the DNA from a swab inside their cheek, but that’s no good to me. I needed blood samples. Pointless otherwise. We don’t take much, enough to fill four or five tubes from each member, that’s all. What I’d call a taster. Some of them ask why we need more than one but I’ve made up some charts and come out with some long words so they mostly pretend to understand and let me fill the tubes. And every month, we hold a competition: the couple with the best DNA match win dinner for two at a top restaurant.
The feedback’s all been positive. Our order book’s full of satisfied customers. But they’re not nearly as satisfied as I am. Like I said, the tubes are tasters. It’s like wine, even bottles from the same maker, the same vintage can differ from one another – a heavier bouquet, a hint more tannin, there are all sorts of variables. So you need a taste before you commit to buying. And it’s the same with blood. All those little tubes, no two alike. There are all sorts of differences, subtle variations in density, texture and, of course, taste. It’s been an education for me, the nature of these differences.
But Isabel’s, wow! I’d only taken three tubes of it. Drank the lot. You’re talking premier cru, streets ahead of the rest. Dark, tangy but layered. Full and musty on the tongue but with the most delicate aftertaste. Indescribable really. And that’s when it’s been in the tubes for a few days, God knows the effect it’ll have when it’s fresh. It’s so tantalising.
So you won’t be surprised to hear that the winner of the Valentine’s Day special is dear, sweet, lonely Isabel. The prize: Dinner for two at my chalet in the woods. Just Isabel and me.
That was the drive behind my DNA dating site. On the surface, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: a site where people can find Mr, Miss or even Mrs Right. We’ve got all the usual psychological profiling, the questionnaires, our own, in-house compatibility matrix – everything you’d expect from a legitimate dating service. But we’ve also got a clear edge over our competitors thanks to our unique DNA spectrum analyser. That’s what decided me to start the company – not just because it was a good gimmick, but because it was through that that I could get what I wanted. Always remember that. Forget about public service and all that crap. Don’t even worry about shareholders. As long as they get their pennies, you’ll be all right. The important, the only thing about running a business is profit, money in your pocket and all your needs satisfied.
I’ll tell you what I mean.
You read about people coming up with a great idea, Japanese kids in their bedrooms making 3D printers out of Lego and stuff, some Welsh kid who’s invented ultra-authentic tattoos which you can wash off. Word of mouth gets going and they’ve soon got punters with wads of dosh wanting to invest in them. Well, that’s what happened with me. I did my research first. Joined a dating site, sent in an air-brushed photo – made me look so good I even fancied myself. Had about half a dozen tries with the matches they sent me but I might just as well have picked phone numbers out of the directory. It was obviously all random. I asked for non-smokers and got women reeking of that horrible mixture of perfume and stale smoke. I said I preferred brunettes and got girls with heads like rainbows. And of course, the thing I wanted most from them, the reason I took the risk, well, I couldn’t put that in my profile. And even if I did, any normal woman would run a mile.
So all the online dates I had helped to confirm what I’d suspected – that it’s a con. Finding partners isn’t a scientific thing. Romance is a myth, a fiction. And love? Huh. The ultimate self-deception, a desperate hunger for something that’s always beyond reach. Because it’s an illusion, a story we tell ourselves. What interests me are the hungers, or rather, thirsts, that can be satisfied. So, if something doesn’t exist, invent it.
It was my own thing, my own appetite that gave me the idea for the DNA spectrum machine. I made up some stats, quoted researchers in American colleges whose names I also made up, and that was the basis for my pitch. My reasoning was simple enough to sound persuasive. DNA stores biological information, right? So, instead of taking pot luck with a date and finding yourself in a restaurant sloshing back wine while she talks about puppies, you give a DNA sample, we compare it with others in our database and you get paired up on a scientific basis. I know it’s crap but people are desperate.
And when you surround them with the whole medical thing – white coats, syringes, instruments– well, they’re impressed. This isn’t just photo-shopping a picture, this is real. Of course, there’s no need for any of it. We could get the DNA from a swab inside their cheek, but that’s no good to me. I needed blood samples. Pointless otherwise. We don’t take much, enough to fill four or five tubes from each member, that’s all. What I’d call a taster. Some of them ask why we need more than one but I’ve made up some charts and come out with some long words so they mostly pretend to understand and let me fill the tubes. And every month, we hold a competition: the couple with the best DNA match win dinner for two at a top restaurant.
The feedback’s all been positive. Our order book’s full of satisfied customers. But they’re not nearly as satisfied as I am. Like I said, the tubes are tasters. It’s like wine, even bottles from the same maker, the same vintage can differ from one another – a heavier bouquet, a hint more tannin, there are all sorts of variables. So you need a taste before you commit to buying. And it’s the same with blood. All those little tubes, no two alike. There are all sorts of differences, subtle variations in density, texture and, of course, taste. It’s been an education for me, the nature of these differences.
But Isabel’s, wow! I’d only taken three tubes of it. Drank the lot. You’re talking premier cru, streets ahead of the rest. Dark, tangy but layered. Full and musty on the tongue but with the most delicate aftertaste. Indescribable really. And that’s when it’s been in the tubes for a few days, God knows the effect it’ll have when it’s fresh. It’s so tantalising.
So you won’t be surprised to hear that the winner of the Valentine’s Day special is dear, sweet, lonely Isabel. The prize: Dinner for two at my chalet in the woods. Just Isabel and me.
About the Author
Bill Kirton was born in Plymouth, England but has lived in Aberdeen, Scotland for most of his life. He’s been a university lecturer, presented TV programmes, written and performed songs and sketches at the Edinburgh Festival, and had many radio plays broadcast by the BBC and the Australian BC, and stage plays performed in the UK and USA. He’s written five books on study and writing skills in Pearson’s ‘Brilliant’ series and his crime novels, Material Evidence, Rough Justice, The Darkness, Shadow Selves and Unsafe Acts, along with the historical novel The Figurehead, set in Aberdeen in 1840, have all been published in the UK and USA. The Darkness is an award winner and his satirical novel, The Sparrow Conundrum, is a double award winner. There’s another satirical novel, Alternative Dimension, and he’s also written stories for children: a novel, The Loch Ewe Mystery, and a short story, Rory the Dragon and Princess Daisy. His short stories have appeared in several anthologies and Love Hurts was chosen for the Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 2010 and has been optioned for a film.
His website and blog are at http://www.billkirton.com.
His website and blog are at http://www.billkirton.com.