Last week's big civic event in Boston was the opening of Apple's latest outlet - a three-floor glass and steel cathedral built around a transparent stairway that looks like it could go straight to heaven.
And even though the place is crammed with sleek and pricey laptops, iPods, and iPhones, you would never know that the biggest Apple store in the country is about selling things.
Looking, in his open-necked shirt, like an older version of that adorable Mac guy from the Apple commercials, vice president Ron Johnson spoke as if the store had been built for Boston as a personal favor by Steve Jobs, the demigod Apple CEO.
People are encouraged to just come in and hang out, Johnson said at Wednesday's press preview. Sure, the store's third floor, or "family room," where devotees can find technical help, is designed to help them get more out of their computers.
"But really," Johnson said, "it's to help you get more out of yourself."
And the 165 store workers -the Geniuses, Specialists, and Creatives, as Apple calls them?
"They really know how to look into people's hearts."
Really, Ron? Our hearts?
They can definitely see into our wallets.
In the first three months of this year, Apple's gleaming stores brought in $1.45 billion.
Behind that glistening Boylston Street façade, they won't be able to count the money fast enough. Which means a huge, stable enterprise for Mayor Tom Menino's Boston. The mayor was also on hand Wednesday, looking a bit like the shlubby PC guy from the Apple ads, only in a nattier suit.
"Technology is amazing," Menino offered, after the speeches. "You can look anything up."
Oh, Mr. Mayor, this isn't mere technology.
Just ask the fans who waited overnight on the street for the store opening. Even though there are already eight other Apple stores in the area. And no new products at this one. And the only giveaway was a bunch of T-shirts.
Now, I happen to think the designers at Apple are geniuses. If I had gotten my beloved Mac for free, I, too, might have camped out on Boylston Street to show my appreciation. But I figured paying for it was thanks enough.
Not so.
"We're a family," said Ana Arnal, a Boston architect near the front of the queue. "It's important to support what they do."
Steven Reposa, first in line on Thursday, was at his fourth Apple store opening. Overcome with emotion at the opening of New York's Fifth Avenue store, Reposa, a lumber store worker, proposed to his girlfriend.
"I love Apple," he said.
With Apple, "I'm buying more than a computer," said Mike Johnson, a few spots back in the line. "I'm buying into a company that really cares about me as an individual."
Individuality has long been the core of Apple's message. In its famous 1984 spot, hundreds of pallid
Since then, tens of millions of us have thought different.
And with growing enthusiasm. Over the years, Steve Jobs's annual Macworld addresses have drawn increasingly fervent crowds, calling to mind that scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian," where Brian addresses the vast multitudes who mistakenly believe he's the Messiah.
"You're all individuals!" Brian yells.
"Yes, we're all individuals!" they say in unison.
We individuals have helped make the company gazillions. But as this week's hoopla shows, the Apple guys have somehow fixed it so that we're the ones who feel grateful.
Now that's genius.
Yvonne Abraham is a Globe columnist. Her email is abraham@globe.com.
