I don’t use an alarm clock, since I wake up at pretty much the same time every morning including weekends. But my wife does. She sets hers ahead about seven minutes or so, but leaves the clock facing outward toward the door — I suppose it looks nicer as a part of the furniture or something. It beeps and buzzes. Loudly. Very loudly. She lies there motionless as though she doesn’t hear it. (Although, she hears from the bedroom to the kitchen when I change the trash bag.)
After maybe a minute or two of this incredibly loud clock-shrieking, just before it will have torn a hole in space-time, her hand almost involuntarily finds its way to the nightstand and fumbles around until it latches onto the snooze button. Lather, rinse, repeat four or five more times. It is after the second time that I take her her coffee, kiss her, tell her “Good morning” and leave her coffee by the bed. When she finally opens her eyes, she has to sit up to see the time.
Still not even feeling the floor beneath her feet, she has to do some base 60 math. Let’s see, 06:03:12 minus 00:07:38 is… ah, fuck it, not yet 6:00. And as she sips her lukewarm coffee, trying to focus her eyes on the morning weather report, she contemplates the logistics of making her way to the bathroom, into which she eventually stumbles and closes the door. As soon as she turns on the shower, of course, here goes the clock. Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant! Brrrant!
It sounds like the mating call of a drunken rhinoceros. I run to the bedroom to shut it off, but even after all this time, I have not mastered the fine art of pushing the right combinations of buttons while holding my thumb over the proper lever and facing Mecca. I slap it. I shake it. I curse it. The face of a demon appears on its surface and laughs at me as I struggle to shut it off. Finally, I manage to change it from the obnoxious pounding of short-cycle screams to the obnoxious voices of morning radio personalities. I turn down the volume — the only button larger than a pin head — and leave it be.
In my opinion, alarm clocks are the spawn of hell.