Jim's first indication that something has gone wrong is the god-awful squealing his universal translator is piping directly into his skull. Cursing loudly, it takes him a couple tries to shut the damn thing off, and... oh. The fuck?

Clearly, the translator itself isn't the problem, because unless he's just had a stroke or something, all of the signage has just changed. The crowd noise has become angry and dissonant, a thousand languages clashing in a way that they hadn't just mere moments ago, as whatever was keeping conversation flowing smoothly grinds to a fucking halt.

Well that's... certainly something.

Jim abandons his window shopping, now that he can't read any of the signs or labels, shutting down his padd and shoving it under his arm as he heads back towards the center area of the plaza in search of answers. Or failing that, a cup of coffee to help get a handle on things, assuming he can manage to order one.