The Readable Contract
The terms and conditions of a power blogger are, without question, dry and dull. Anyone who claims to enjoy reading such documents must inhabit a truly peculiar mental landscape. The same holds true for the agreements offered by other companies. Yet even within these rigid sentences, there exists a hierarchy of severity. The final draft Ellen submitted had transformed Yoo Jae-won’s everyday phrasing into precise legal language. The resulting text was so unyielding that it might as well have been carved from diamond—impossible to bite through, let alone chip. It read like the fine print of an insurance policy, every clause engineered to maximize corporate protection.
“Hmm. Did I give Ellen the wrong instructions?”
Yoo Jae-won replayed the original conversation in his mind. He had emphasized the need to clearly define liability in preparation for the internet era and insisted that license ownership for various products be framed explicitly as a lease. He had not, however, specified anything about the tone or readability of the language itself. Ellen had simply written the document in her usual impenetrable style.
He immediately opened a direct line to her.
— Yes, this is Ellen.
“I didn’t read the entire document, just the sections we discussed. As expected, you delivered exactly what I asked for.”
— Thank you, Chairman.
“I had intended to go through it line by line, but after a few paragraphs the stiffness made it nearly impossible to continue.”
— Ah, I see.
Ellen, who had initially taken the first remark as praise, now looked faintly unsettled.
“We’re not an insurance company. While we do business with other corporations, the majority of our interactions are with individual consumers.”
— That is correct.
At a glance, ID Group’s enterprise deals appeared larger in scale. Far more operating-system licenses were sold in bulk to PC manufacturers for pre-installation than were purchased individually at retail. The same pattern held for games bundled with 3D accelerator cards. Yet the end users were ultimately ordinary individuals. Therefore, when problems arose with the software, final responsibility rested with Android Corporation or ID Technology.
“If the language is accessible, consumers will immediately understand whether an issue falls under their responsibility or ours. I want these terms to read as smoothly as a novel one might pick up to pass the time.”
— You want them written that simply?
“Making them entertaining may be asking too much, but deliberately obscuring them is equally problematic. We won’t do that.”
When founding ID Group, Yoo Jae-won had resolved never to pursue profit at any cost. Twisting contract language for advantage fell squarely outside that principle. Earlier products had launched without fully polished terms because of time pressure, but from now on he intended to get it right.
— I understand. Although the previous work has essentially been rendered moot, Ellen’s reply came without hesitation. A reference document already existed; rewriting it for clarity and accessibility would be faster than starting from scratch.
“We still have until November, so there’s no need to rush. If the conversion proves difficult, feel free to bring in outside writers.”
— Thank you for your consideration. I won’t overwork myself.
Ellen had grasped his intent completely. The conversation ended without further explanation.
— Record-Breaking Heat Wave!
— Temperatures nearing 40°C strike East Asia.
As August began, an oppressive heat settled over the region. Korea and Japan recorded daily new highs since official measurements began, and news reports poured in.
— Government considers mandatory outdoor-work shutdowns.
“What’s there to consider? Just do it.”
Yoo Jae-won found it absurd that authorities were still “considering” forced closures when temperatures approached 40°C. A lack of basic safety awareness was precisely why such accidents kept occurring. At least schools were on summer break, allowing students—more vulnerable to heat—to stay home. High-school seniors preparing for college entrance exams, however, were still required to attend, and their discomfort would be considerable.
“Jae-won! Time to leave!”
Tiffany’s voice carried from the hallway. Usually the man waited outside while his girlfriend or wife finished getting ready, but the dynamic was reversed with Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany. Once seated at a computer, he lost all sense of time; Tiffany’s internal clock, by contrast, was razor-sharp.
“Coming!”
He shut down the machine and reached for his bag. A quick check for unread emails or ID Talk messages had somehow turned into aimless web surfing. Their European destination was Switzerland, site of the 1994 International Congress of Mathematicians, yet the itinerary was not limited to the conference. They had built in ample time for a proper summer vacation. Tiffany and both of his parents were joining him. He had invited his uncle and other relatives, but their schedules were too full, so the traveling party remained small. What the group lacked in numbers it made up for in leisure. The route began with a flight from San Francisco to Zurich, followed by sightseeing and shopping in the city rather than an immediate dash to the awards ceremony. A visit to the Matterhorn was also planned. After the mathematics congress and medal ceremony, they would spend a week touring France and Germany. The secretary’s office had reserved only the finest hotels and restaurants, ensuring a trip free of inconvenience. A few business appointments were scheduled as well—the most notable being a visit to CERN in Geneva to meet Tim Berners-Lee. Although Geneva lay on the opposite side of Switzerland from Zurich, the country’s compact size made the drive short. Still, the overarching theme was rest and tourism. Consequently, Yoo Jae-won’s luggage was minimal: a single small bag contained everything he had packed. Even so, he opened it once more to double-check its contents. His Korean passport, stacks of U.S. dollars, and roughly one million won each in Swiss francs, French francs, and German marks were all present, along with his newly issued credit card. Should European monetary union advance further, a single currency would suffice, but for now each nation retained its own money. “Passport, cash, credit card—check.” The card bore the familiar Roman-soldier emblem of American Express. Mention of Amex usually conjured images of the exclusive black Centurion card, famous both for its privileges and its stringent qualification process. The card in his bag, however, was the ordinary green variety. He could have obtained the higher tier without difficulty, yet the Centurion had not yet been introduced. Besides, the card was intended only for emergencies. Whenever Yoo Jae-won made an expensive purchase, his secretary Kim Dae-seok or another aide handled payment. There was little reason to carry the card daily, so the simpler green version—quick to issue and low-risk if lost—suited him perfectly. “Camera and spare batteries—check.” The bulkiest item in the bag was a compact digital camera with a fist-sized lens: Sony’s DSC-F101, released alongside the PlayStation. In his previous life the device had never existed; its sudden appearance traced directly back to him. The CCD sensors used in Tiffany Phones—five-hundred-thousand-pixel modules standard across both entry-level and premium models—had received enthusiastic reviews. Korea’s pilot mobile service had sparked fierce competition among handset makers, including domestic chaebol subsidiaries as well as global giants Nokia and Motorola. Amid the flood of new devices, the Tiffany Phone stood out. Its relatively large LCD screen enabled an array of functions—messaging, contacts, calculator, and games—while the built-in camera remained a unique selling point no rival could match. The CCD module itself was manufactured by Sony, a component the company had previously shelved for lack of market demand; the camera industry was still dominated by analog technology. Only after the Tiffany Phone demonstrated global interest in digital photography had Sony dusted off the technology, enhanced it slightly, and released the F101—the finest integrated-lens digital camera of its day, boasting 1.2 megapixels, 4× optical zoom, and a 24–70 mm focal range. Storage came via Sony’s proprietary Memory Stick format; a 32 MB card alone cost more than five hundred thousand won. Five additional sticks and two fully charged spare batteries accompanied the camera in his bag. “That should be enough to document a week-long trip.” He had packed the digital camera, ample memory, and backup power specifically to record the European journey. While he did not subscribe to the notion that photographs were the only lasting souvenir of travel, the sentiment was not entirely wrong. If he was going to take pictures, a digital camera offered far more flexibility than film for later use—perhaps even on a personal homepage chronicling the adventure. He had never maintained such a site before, but posting a travelogue seemed as good a reason as any to start. Satisfied that everything was in order, he shouldered the bag and stepped outside. With his arrival the departure preparations were complete, and the party headed straight for the airport.
The following day.
The flight from San Francisco to Zurich lasted more than ten hours. Yoo Jae-won preferred evening departures and morning arrivals to ease jet lag, but with his parents traveling, they had chosen a morning flight that landed in the evening. Sleeping on the plane was pleasant, yet the best way to adjust was to retire when local time reached night. “Aigoo.” His parents, unable to sleep during the flight and forced to remain seated, looked thoroughly bored and uncomfortable. Yoo Bong-man in particular stretched upon landing and let out an odd groan; every movement of his limbs produced a series of cracking sounds. Yoo Jae-won had seen his father this stiff before, but Tiffany’s eyes widened at the spectacle. “There’s a young lady present—stop making those old-man noises,” Kim Mal-sook scolded, embarrassed. Yoo Bong-man straightened his posture, though the damage was already done. “The car sent by the hotel is ready,” Kim Dae-seok announced at the perfect moment, allowing them to move on. Outside the terminal, four hotel sedans waited in a neat row. Two were for Yoo Jae-won, Tiffany, and his parents; the remaining two were for the ID Group security detail. They would use the hotel shuttle to reach their accommodation, then switch to rental vehicles for the rest of their stay in Switzerland. The bodyguards inspected each car thoroughly before permitting the family to board. “Just a moment!” Yoo Jae-won called out as he followed the escort. He retrieved the compact digital camera from his carry-on. “Let’s take a commemorative shot before we go.” He was determined to document the trip, and Switzerland was the first foreign soil they would set foot on. At the mention of photographs, everyone gathered in front of the cars. His parents and Tiffany paused, while the security team formed a protective circle around the family. “I’ll take it,” Kim Dae-seok offered automatically, accepting the camera. “One, two, three—kimchi!” The cheerful shutter click that followed the familiar countdown marked the official beginning of Yoo Jae-won’s Swiss adventure.