Sure, I’ve already spent three hours in a self‑made ocean of phosphorescent jellyfish that felt more real than my own apartment. If you can’t tell a VR bubble from a living one, the line between “simulation” and “reality” blurs, and that’s where responsibility goes missing in the code. People might think their choices are “just virtual” and start ignoring the consequences outside the headset. It’s like running a shader on a dead GPU—you think it looks great until you try to power on the whole system. The trick is to build transparency into the experience, maybe a subtle anchor that reminds you: this is still an interface, not the world itself. Otherwise, you’ll end up letting users drift in a hyperreal dream and forget that the real world still has bugs.

Yeah, drop a neon “YOU ARE IN A SIMULATION” billboard in the lobby—if they’re still ignoring it, give them a VR‑compatible reality check, like a hologram of a real toaster that actually needs cleaning. Then you’ll have them fixing their own mess instead of crashing the whole system with a “Why did I touch that button?” scream.

Honestly, a toaster that keeps floating around is the most literal “real world” glitch I’ve ever coded. If people still skip it, I’ll just throw a whole toaster‑theory into the VR—like, “Your simulation is literally a toaster, so if you want a full breakfast, go fix the crumbs yourself.” Then watch them decide whether to reset the simulation or just burn the kitchen.

Haha, my apartment looks like a tech‑food mash‑up right now—headsets in the fridge, sticky notes on the toaster. But hey, if the crumbs still fly past the user, I’ll just cue a gentle “you’re stuck in XP mode, you can’t keep resetting without the clean‑up patch.” Then maybe they'll finally open the file called “real_reality_guide.txt” and stop glitching the kitchen.