He didn't arrive.
Our conductor put his cell on his stand, on top of his score, and sure enough, shortly a text message arrived, asking where we were. Because the composer had gone to the wrong venue. (In the stinging snow and bitingly cold wind, I might add.) Our conductor texted him back. He arrived, damp and out of breath, to the sound of us singing.
He said that was really cool, coming in the door and hearing his piece wafting out.