You bang on the wired glass door as hard as you can with the palms of your open hands. The rabid emu pursuing you is closing in and this barber shop is the only safe haven you could make it to. You already tried opening the door, pushing as hard as you could against it, but it wouldn't budge so it must be locked.
The barber and his customer turn at the sound of your heavy knocking and stare at you in apprehensive confusion.
"Let me in!" you scream. "This bird is going to kill me!"
Even though you're obviously desperate, the barber doesn't make his way to the door to give you refuge. Instead, he stabs the air several times with a pointing index figure.
Thinking he's gesturing to he feathered two-legged monster making a beeline for you down Chimes street, you turn, hoping to see that the bloodthirsty bird has found more cooperative quarry. Of course, your disappointed. The emu is only about fifty yards away now, and you can see the crimson blood of its previous victims glistening on its beak in the midday sun.
Panicking, your turn back to the door and resume your frantic pounding and hopeless pleas to garner entry.
The barber simply continues his pointing.
You're out of time - the emu is upon you. As the giant kiwi jumps up and down on your chest, crushing your ribs, you look up at the locked door that could have saved your life were it not for the callousness of your fellow man. You see a sign on the door you didn't notice before. In blue all caps it reads:
PULL