I keep cutting hair in a salon where the lights are wrong

I'm trimming a client's bangs but the scissors keep snagging, dull in a way they never are in real life. The whole room's lit like a hospital waiting area, and the client hums a song I don't recognize, something slow. I never finish the cut — the chair swivels me around and I'm the one in the mirror, half-covered in someone else's clippings.