An Admiral hails you. They’re probably going to betray you and Starfleet principles.
Half of the senior staff are giving acting lessons.
Half of the senior staff play a musical instrument. None of them offer music lessons.
The Captain is wearing a red shirt.
The walls are beige. They are closing in. Beigely.
The holodeck is trying to kill you.
The diplomats you’re transporting are going to cause you problems.
A gentleman keeps talking about honour. He has a bumpy forehead.
A lady keeps looking slightly pained. She is sensing things. Or she’s possessed.
Things are being made so. A lot.
The Captain is flirting with an omniscient entity.
The Romulan is lying to you.
The Klingon is lying to you.
The Ferengi is *definitely* lying to you.
The First Officer has an odd way of sitting down. You wonder if this is why he never accepts a command of his own.
Your Starfleet uniform is crushing your spine.
Someone is going to accidently make that computer sentient.
There are children onboard. There parents don’t seem bothered that they are in mortal peril every other week.
The Captain has the most convincing English accent you’ve ever heard from a Frenchman.
Some of the crew may turn into spiders; that is how evolution works here.
The Security Chief’s ability to hit a target with his phaser is…questionable.
The ship is saved by a young man in an ugly sweater. Everyone is very rude to him, even though he keeps saving their lives.
Someone is talking about Klingon politics. The word honour now makes you want to claw off your own ears.
Red alert means it’s time for a sit down and a chat in the conference lounge. Snacks are optional.
There is a trial. The Captain will declaim a lot. You are moved by his passionate and eloquent speech.
There is a moral to the story. You will be hit over the head with it.
The only blend of tea available is Earl Grey.
You are saddened that the only member of the senior staff who never takes part in poker nights is the Captain. After seven years he finally joins them for the first time, and you feel a warmth and satisfaction that comes from reaching the end of a long journey, and everything turning out okay.
###
Lizbeth Myles 
“There are children onboard. There parents don’t seem bothered that they are in mortal peril every other week.”
I was a teen when TNG first aired, and I never thought twice about this. Now I’m *cough* older and a parent, this seems so bizarre.
The older I get, the less okay I am with the presence of children on the Enterprise. (And cats! And fish! Vulnerable entities should not be on the ship which is invariably on the verge of destruction every week!)
The Enterprise is a vessel of exploration, not war. So they’re not deliberately sending people to danger. What people seem to be forgetting is that when you are exploring new faraway worlds, there is always an element of danger…that’s just how it is. What are you going to do–split up your family because exploring can be dangerous? Suppress your life desire to appease your family? (And honestly, being on the Enterprise is no more dangerous for children than living in the USA is right now.)
The seemingly-insolvable crisis / emergency / moral dilemma that you are faced with is suddenly, and conveniently, resolved when literally out of the blue it occurs to your chief engineer and his android pal to simply bounce a phase-shifting tachyon beam off the deflector dish into the planet’s atmosphere, and voila, problem solved!