The Amiga 1000 was a computer ahead of its time. Sporting colour, multi-tasking and the most kick-ass graphics chip of the time, it outshone any Mac or PC on the market. I should know, because I loved that damn machine to death.
I knew the ins and outs of every piece of the operating system, going so far as to try and convince friends wanting to play video games on it that "playing" with Amiga DOS was just as fun.
Everything about the operating system was ahead of its time. Microsoft Windows popularity was a few years off and the Mac was still in its B&W phase of life. Having two applications running at one time was unheard of. Icons had both an "On" and "Off" state. Video demos of bouncing balls and AT-ATs walking across desktops blew people away. In short, it was wonderful.
So much care went into every aspect of the user experience. You could tell every step of the way how much the developers of this platform really cared about what they were doing.
Then it happened. One day my father and I had to open up our Amiga 1000. And boy, were we in for a beauty of a surprise. Embossed into the plastic casing were every person's signature that had helped bring the Amiga into creation. A memorial to the team that had put so much of themselves into the machine.
There is no viable reason to spend the money to have these signatures appear on the inside of a plastic box. There is no business case for a good ROI here. There is just pure love for the product. The company believed in its product so much that it was willing to go the extra mile to give credit to the talented people that made it happen physically on each and every model they shipped.
If a company believes in its product and, more importantly, it's people that much, you can be sure that every aspect of the product is going to go above and beyond what any consumer could hope ever for.