Travels included odd musical mix

“Who put this mix together?” asked my wife.
She wasn’t talking about a snack of nuts and pretzels. She was talking about the music.
We were sitting at the Dayton airport on Wednesday afternoon, waiting for the first of two flights that we hoped would get us to Boston for a Thanksgiving visit with our grandchildren.
And the music playing in the airport was, to put it mildly, a little weird.
At first, I’d noticed some vintage rock and roll that was a pleasant change from the stuff that usually plays in the background in public places.
Then the tunes turned a little funkier.
By the time my wife asked her question, it sounded as if we were listening to one of those “greatest hits” party collections that are sold on late night TV.
Some of the tunes were individually OK, but the mix followed no logic that we could figure out.
One passenger getting off his plane actually did a few dance moves to an ’80s disco beat before his girlfriend told him to knock it off.
And the odd soundtrack seemed to follow us the rest of the Thanksgiving weekend.
When our Newark connection was delayed by an hour, the airline re-routed us through Chicago. But as we waited, watching the river of travelers moving through O’Hare, the music being played was just as odd a mixture as we had encountered in Dayton.
And when we finally arrived in Boston — about four hours later than we’d planned — the same airport DJ seemed to be in control.
“Chuck Berry’s playing in the men’s room,” I told my wife as we waited for a ride to our hotel.
Surely, we thought, we’re done with that bit of pop music menagerie.
But at breakfast the next morning, the weirdness of the playlist was turned up a notch.
At first, I couldn’t believe my ears.
Was that really the Ray Conniff Singers warbling “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth”?
It was.
And no sooner had the toothless Conniff gang finished than Willie Nelson started nasally crooning another forgotten holiday anthem. Willie Nelson? Singing Christmas songs? The old outlaw must have been in desperate need of a payday when he recorded that batch.
The random holiday mix continued as we headed to the elevator. Willie wrapped things up and was followed by Louis Armstrong — Satchmo himself — giving us his version of “White Christmas.”
Apparently, every entertainer in the world has at some time or another recorded a Christmas album; and, apparently, the tape loop at our hotel had a sample from each of them.
Fortunately, there was no canned background music for most of the Thanksgiving weekend. Grandchildren — a 4-year-old, a 15-month-old and one who will celebrate his first birthday on Christmas Eve — provided all the entertainment either of us could ask for.
And by the time we got back to Dayton on Sunday night, I’d pretty much forgotten the airport and hotel background music.
But then, when we were waiting for the shuttle bus to take us to the economy parking lot, I heard The Kinks.
Ba-da-da-da-dum, ba-da-da-da-da, ba-da-da-da-dum, ba-da-da-da-da.
“Ray Davies!” I said to my wife. “It’s ‘Come Dancing.’ I love this song.”
The look on her face told me she was in no mood for dancing at all. It was time to get on the bus and head back to our car. We still had the drive home, and there was a CD in the CD player.