A funky beat thumps from behind you as you strut beneath the flourescent lights which have somehow become strobing lasers, reflecting off your shoes and dazzling the onlookers. As you stroll past, singing, "Jive talkin', you're tellin' me lies," your boss catches your arms and says your name.
"You're fired," he says. As quickly as that, the lights and funk and band are all gone, and you're standing in front of your former boss in your former place of employment.