My alarm went off during a salon shampoo, when I couldn’t even reach my phone

I thought fitting two appointments together meant using the day well

I booked a Saturday morning haircut and arranged to meet a friend that afternoon. I wanted to get everything I had put off during the week done in one day, so I placed the plans close together. When I asked how long my hair would take, I got an approximate answer. Adding travel time made it tight, but I thought it would work if I avoided being late. Setting a reminder to get ready to leave made the schedule feel settled.

At the salon, I paused the show I was listening to through my earphones and put my bag beside the chair. I discussed the length with the stylist and found a photo to show them. I considered mentioning my plans afterward, then decided against it because I didn’t want to sound impatient. There was still time, and I had my alarm. I could keep track myself. My phone went back into the front pocket of my bag.

During the appointment, I watched my reflection and the staff’s hands in turn. Sometimes the customer beside me laughed, and I relaxed a little too. During a short wait I put my earphones back in, vaguely assuming the alarm would reach only my ears, just like the audio. I didn’t actually test its output. When it was time for the shampoo, I took the earphones out and put them in my bag as well.

The neck rest at the basin was more comfortable than I expected. A staff member asked about the water temperature, and I said it was good. A small towel went over my eyes. With the sound of warm water, I briefly stopped calculating the time. Someone put my bag on a nearby shelf, out of my sight. I thought I only had to wait a little longer now. My hands rested together under the cape.

I couldn’t get up, but my phone was telling me to leave

The water paused, and a familiar melody began. At first I thought the salon music had changed, but the same phrase repeated and the staff member’s hands stopped. “Could that be your phone?” Only then did I remember my departure alarm. I instinctively tried to sit up. There was still shampoo in my hair, they explained, asking me to wait. As I lay back down, my face started to burn.

“It’s in the front pocket of my bag,” I said from under the towel. But what I called the front was not the side facing the staff member. They asked whether I meant the small pocket; I explained about the two zippers. Having someone search my belongings was embarrassing enough, and the sound kept going. Receipts and a charging cable were mixed in there too. I had never realized how hard it was to describe the location of things I usually just shoved into a bag.

After finding the phone, the staff member tried to show me the screen, but the towel still covered my eyes. We briefly moved it aside so I could see. When I hesitated to take the phone with wet hands, they brought another dry towel. One alarm had interrupted the shampoo several times. Another customer was having their hair rinsed at the next basin. I kept apologizing, feeling as though I was making that person wait as well.

Once the sound stopped, the room seemed quieter than before. The staff member said it was fine and turned the water back on. I had gone from worrying about being late to wishing I could disappear from the chair. No one had scolded me, yet I kept searching for an excuse. Saying I thought the alarm would play through my earphones hardly made sense when I had already put the earphones away in the bag.

I should have mentioned my schedule before the alarm did

Back at my seat, I still needed to have my hair dried. This was never an appointment I could leave immediately just because an alarm rang. I finally messaged my friend to say I might be late. They told me there was no rush. That short reply took the tension out of me. By postponing a message I could have sent earlier, I had created an unnecessary interruption at the salon and made myself anxious too.

I cautiously told the stylist about my next appointment. They explained how much longer it would take, and I passed that on to my friend. If I had mentioned it at the start, we could have worked out a realistic time together. The schedule I hid because I didn’t want to rush anyone had emerged as a sudden rush instead. Giving someone useful information and demanding that they hurry were different things. I had learned that rather late.

I looked at my alarm settings again. I couldn’t assume that silent mode or an earphone connection guaranteed the output I wanted. During the shampoo, I had to remove my earphones and couldn’t easily reach my phone anyway. Even a private alarm would not change my position or finish the shampoo for me. Choosing how to keep track of time also meant considering what I would actually be able to do when the signal arrived.

At home, I briefly tested Nenne with my earphones. A private time reminder was useful while I listened to a show during a wait. But before moving to the shampoo area, I would clear any remaining timers. During the parts of the visit when I put my devices away, I could follow the staff’s guidance and leave enough time before my next plans. I stopped expecting one setting to manage the entire visit.

For my next booking, I left room around the finishing time

For my next salon booking, I didn’t put another appointment immediately afterward. I asked how long the service might take and allowed separate time to travel. My calendar had a little more empty space, but the day didn’t feel wasted. It was pleasant to wait without repeatedly checking the clock. Even feeling rested while getting my hair done needed some room in the schedule.

Before entering, I checked the alarms enabled for that day. I kept only the reminder I needed while waiting with earphones. When I was called for my shampoo, I checked the timer as I paused the show. Pairing that check with taking my earphones out made it easier to remember. I also organized my bag so I knew which pocket held my phone. I wanted fewer situations where someone else had to find it for me.

Lying back at the basin brought the previous visit to mind. I almost laughed at the memory of my own voice describing zippers from under a towel. This time, no other sound came in when the water paused. When the staff member asked whether I was comfortable, I only needed to mention the temperature or my neck. A shampoo was supposed to be this simple. There was a quiet comfort in nothing happening.

When I told my friends, they offered similar stories: an alarm ringing while their nails dried, while they lay in a dentist’s chair, or while both hands were full. Owning a phone didn’t mean always being able to operate it immediately. Since then, I don’t consider only the time an alarm will ring. I also picture where my hands and body will be at that moment.

A visit that ended without anyone having to hurry

On the first day, my friend and I met somewhere nearby instead of at our original café. The plan changed a little, and we still had a good time. Nothing disastrous happened. Yet those seconds in the shampoo area stayed with me because my timetable had suddenly become someone else’s responsibility. At the center of the embarrassment was the fact that another person had to stop their work to deal with my small alarm.

Now, before a service that will keep my hands occupied, I check my alarms before putting the phone away. I postpone or disable anything unnecessary and mention any time limit before we start. That small preparation has spared me the same explanation again. I also prefer discussing the service I came for to explaining how someone should operate my phone.

Sometimes a sound only I can hear helps; sometimes it is more natural to prepare no sound at all. Knowing the difference makes private alarms easier to use where they fit. The important preparation wasn’t having more alarms. It was arranging the time around a reminder so I could handle my own next step when it arrived. That also meant fewer favors to ask of other people.

After my hair was dried, I looked in the mirror without checking the time first. I examined my fringe and took my time looking at the back. After paying, I opened my own bag and took out my phone. That ordinary action felt especially welcome. There was still time before my next appointment. Today, nobody else needed to hear my departure time for me.

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