When I was little, my sisters liked to blindfold me and make me stand on a board that two of them would lift up slowly. They would only raise the board a few centimetres, but the trick was that they themselves would slowly bend down as they did so, and I would hear their voices falling further away, telling me I was getting closer and closer to the ceiling. Then, another sister would bop me on the head with a book, making me think I'd hit the ceiling, and the lifters would pretend to panic that they had gone too far and wobble the board until I fell off. I'd be convinced I was falling from a great height, rather than the few centimetres between me and the floor.
My barber is called Innes, and he had a heart attack while cutting someone's hair last year (he's only 30) and since then, I've always had him cut my hair a little shorter than normal, in case he's not around next time.