I'm a teenage cashier at a Mexican-ish (think: Taco Bell) fast-food restaurant. It's my first day, and it's not conforting to see a group of space aliens walk in, demanding food in their language to go.
I eventually figure out what they want, nervously awaiting payment.
Instead of money, they hand me a business card in English and several other languages, human and alien.
"Universal Connisseurs," it reads.
Cut to the next day: I'm the first one to work, and there's a sign in similar format to the business card.
"Best Quesadillas in the Milky Way Galaxy," it says.