There were many
rumors circulating about the company Diseases for Sale (http://www.diseasesforsale.com):
right-wing political blogs claimed that the head of R&D was in
fact a geneticist who used to work for either a terrorist cell
or a corrupt government (although which terrorist cell or
government in particular varies from commentator to
commentator). Skeptics labeled its initial success as a hoax,
claiming that its popularity was manufactured by the Web 2.0
community, with writers and publicists drawn from NaNoWriMo
members and bloggers who failed to monetize their websites. One
of the wilder theories, which popped up in a now-defunct BBS,
was that the original entrepreneur was from a future in which a
cure for cancer was never discovered, but where such research
led to the discovery of new viral strains and bacteria.
The success of Diseases for Sale baffled the economic analysts
of the 21st century, who predicted that healthcare would
dominate the industry. In 2008, at a time when everyone seemed
to be affiliated with at least one gym, when wonder drugs were
either counterfeited or sold on the black market, when beauty
products were utilized by both genders, Diseases for Sale made
its debut. Historians would argue that its initial presence was
so counter-culture, especially when you took into consideration
the networks’ sponsors, that conventional media outlets
conducted a news blackout.
R. J. Brandon, the last CEO of Diseases for Sale, claimed that
the company had humble beginnings. “Our founder picked a domain
name that no one in their right mind would buy,” he said. “I
mean, who would trademark a company name with the word ‘disease’
in it?”
Unstated by the CEO was the fact that their initial startup
website was poorly laid out with its simple white background,
Times New Roman font, and usage of commonly-available clip art.
The only clues that it was an actual online store were the
PayPal and shopping cart buttons at the bottom of the page.
Still, whatever it lacked in marketing and design, it made up
for with its services. The company’s first products were
seemingly innocuous diseases: the common cold, sore eyes, and
diarrhea. Whereas the pharmaceutical industry’s cash cow was
selling drugs that held off these ailments, Diseases for Sale
got its start by providing them as a service. They probably
wouldn’t have been as successful if they hadn’t targeted the
most infectious market: the youth. Didn’t study for an exam? A
cold was often enough to deter parents from allowing their
children to leave the house. Skeptical school nurses found
themselves facing either an epidemic of sore eyes (usually the
females) or clogged, stinking toilets (usually the males).
Before the authorities finally figured it out, Diseases for
Sale’s URL made its way through private mailing lists, message
boards, and Twitter before its appearance in places like
Livejournal, Facebook, MySpace, and various RSS Feeds. For a
time, some people believed that the company was an urban legend
or a hoax, as elusive as a Nigerian prince offering his wealth.
However, the company’s clientele slowly expanded into the
collegiate level and eventually the labor sector, where
employees mimicked the excuses their children gave their
teachers.
Even at this early stage, Diseases for Sale had developed a
sturdy business system. All transactions were done online and
various methods of payment could be utilized, from bank
deposits, electronic cash, and the aforementioned PayPal. They
accepted all forms of currency, whether it was pesos, euros,
yen, yuan, or even the more exotic ones such as World of
Warcraft gold and Linden dollars.
The company’s slogan was ‘Safety First!’ and it would achieve
this through several methods. The first was its rigorous
screening process which verified your identity, requesting
scanned photocopies of valid IDs or your birth certificate.
Second was its policy that prevented you from purchasing
diseases for other people. You couldn’t ‘give’ someone else a
disease you had paid for. Once your account was created, every
time you purchased a disease, you received an email confirming
the purchase order.
Another safety feature was that all diseases it sold were only
temporary and (in the case of the diseases it would later sell)
could never lead to one’s actual expiration. ‘Dead customers are
bad for business,’ was the official statement.
What puzzled many experts were the vectors the company used to
transmit its products. Upon confirming your order, you would
wake up the next day, infected with the disease. There was no
need to check your mailbox for any packages. Diseases for Sale
had a money-back guarantee on its efficiency. This immediate and
inexplicable transportation baffled governments who were hoping
to earn income from transportation taxes. Savvy industrialists
similarly wondered how they could duplicate the same delivery
model for their own businesses. The less innocent failed in
their attempts to divine the company’s secret method of
delivery, and this is arguably why Diseases for Sale lasted
until the 22nd century, outliving its copycats and derivatives
which only succeeded in reverse-engineering its earlier
commodities but not its services. The most popular theory was
that the email confirming your purchase order included an
encrypted psychosomatic code, which activated various proteins
in the human body that replicated the effects of the disease you
ordered.
Diseases for Sale’s initial batch of products was successful
enough that it enabled them to expand their repertoire and
branch out to other markets. Its ‘Career Diseases’ line was one
example. Insomnia was originally marketed to workaholics,
writers, and graphic artists who kept long hours or complained
that they didn’t have enough time in the day to finish all of
their tasks. This product also proved popular to call center
agents from countries like India and the Philippines, as well as
nurses all over the world. ‘Less sleep doubled my working time!’
was the testimonial the company used for its ads. Another
product in the same line was synesthesia, which became the craze
among self-styled artists, especially when dependence on drugs
and alcohol was more vigorously frowned upon by the government.
Synesthesia was the substitute muse as the clashing colors of
musical notes were burned in the retinas of hopeful musicians
and aspiring poets, many of whom developed an addiction for the
spiciness of phonemes and allophones. Even dyslexia, a cheaper
product, proved to be a source of creativity as fictionists
mistyped ‘love’ for ‘lost’ and ‘gain’ for ‘pain’.
Eventually, Diseases for Sale grew just like any other
successful business. It had a phase as a fad when the fashion
industry decided it was glamorous to design clothing that
highlighted one’s rashes and allergies. Diseases for Sale
experienced a boom in sales as models and social climbers sought
out ways to induce irritable skin or puffy cheeks. There was
even a controversial magazine cover featuring a model who
willingly exposed herself to leprosy.
However, they encountered problems as well. Countries like Japan
and Singapore, which prioritized healthy hygiene as a virtue,
initially opposed Diseases for Sale’s entry into their markets.
The PR department, however, alleviated many of their concerns,
especially when it came to the contagiousness of the diseases
(each product was uniquely tailored to affect only the
customer’s DNA) and the mortality of its clients (as previously
stated, diseases were non-lethal, including the cancerous
variety—although one was subjected to hours of excruciating
pain). They even allowed governments to inspect their offices
and ‘factories’ (in actuality, warehouses full of network
servers and crisscrossing wires), the location of which were
previously undisclosed (hackers years earlier tracked their IP
address to one of the Polynesian islands). Eventually, a special
license was dispensed, and Diseases for Sale required waivers
from customers in select countries.
In R. J. Brandon’s memoirs, he divulged that during this period
of growth, the company relied more on their stable and
consistent customers. “We had all sorts of professionals
availing of our services and it is because of their patronage
that we continued to be a successful enterprise.” More than one
method actor, in interviews, admitted to using Diseases for
Sale’s products in order to better embrace their roles.
Historical movies were one genre in which this proved popular:
why feign the symptoms of consumption when you could actually
experience the wracking agony of tuberculosis? Medical
professionals were also under this consumer bracket, as they
bought diseases so that they might better understand—or failing
that, empathize with—their patients. (The more cynical doctors
told their patients, “Yes, ma’am, I know exactly what it feels
like, so stop whining and let’s get this over with!”)
In the late 21st century, Diseases for Sale became as ubiquitous
as Xerox or Coke. It was during this period that the company
pushed its more radical products into the market. Parents
bookmarked the order form for temporary paraplegia and
tetraplegia, threatening their misbehaving children with a few
hours of limbic paralysis should they fail to cease their
tantrums. (The company had relaxed its stance on ‘Safety First!’
by this time and allowed guardians to purchase diseases for
their wards.)
The S&M crowd appropriated many of the company’s products for
their own fetishes. Aside from temporary paraplegia which the
non-dominant partner usually ordered, Sickle Cell Disease—pain
being the least of its effects—also proved to be one of the
company’s bestsellers.
Heavy taxation on alcohol led some drunkards to resort to doses
of Alzheimer’s as it enabled them to forget many of their
problems without vomiting, hangovers, or random brawls.
Again, not all of Diseases for Sale’s products were met with
open arms. Sterility was popular among the bachelors and married
Catholics (whose only form of birth control had previously been
withdrawal) until pro-life protesters held several rallies.
There were numerous debates as to whether nonpermanent sterility
actually counted as anti-life, and this discussion intersected
with discussions of religion and philosophy.
At its peak, the company’s products delved into the realm of
abstract diseases. The R&D department managed to distill
elements of various diseases and package them as concentrates.
For the masochists and morphine addicts, they sold pain. Those
feeling guilt at their inability to grieve at a relative’s
funeral could avail of depression. Children and adults alike
often bought denial, and Diseases for Sale never asked them for
their reasons.
For a time, it was possible to custom-order diseases that
weren’t readily available on the company’s catalog. Diseases for
Sale soon discontinued this service, however, when they were
unable to meet many of the demands: spurned lovers and unsure
youths wanted to order homosexuality, but Diseases for Sale
countered that it was not a disease. Military agencies imagined
that they would be more productive if they could purchase
paranoia, but the company said that they were already infected
with it. Radical and right-wing leaders wanted to mass-order
discrimination and prejudice, but Diseases for Sale instead
offered them prosopagnosia—the inability to distinguish faces.
The most-requested disease in the company’s entire history was
death. More than a few billionaires, especially those crippled
by an accident or suffering some terminal disease, requested
such a product. R. J. Brandon, however, declined to provide
their request. When pressed for a reason during an interview, he
merely shook his head and told the press that “The company was
never in the business of selling cures.”
As successful as Diseases for Sale proved to be, it was not
immune to market forces and the ravages of time. New fads popped
up, such as iSuicide, which bit into their clientele.
Governments created new laws which imposed high tariffs on their
products. The human race started developing stronger antibodies
to combat its addiction to disease. The company finally folded
when a computer virus corrupted the company’s database,
brainwashed the AI automating many of its servers, and sent
copies of itself to their clients. Yang Mei Lee, an independent
business consultant, has this to say on the matter: “It was the
company’s downfall when they inadvertently gave away free
product. They could have capitalized on the incident by
charging their customers for the virus.”
