Customer of the Night #4216: The Ugly 'Merkin.

So I'm at work last night and this lady comes in. I'm helping another customer, and we are very obviously in the middle of a conversation about his needs. This woman comes up behind the guy I'm helping, on the other side of a row of wine, but only a couple feet away, and says very loudly
"Aw, dammit!"
I pause momentarily, and then continue on our tour of Spanish wine. Another moment later, another outburst, this time a sigh of mixed disappointment and outrage. I smile at the man I am speaking to and then pointedly turn to the woman and say

"I'm sorry, is there something I can help you find?"

She looks up, feigning surprise that I had somehow overheard her.

"Yes, do you have any more of these in the cooler?" She waves aloft a bottle of Riesling.
I glance toward the cooler, which is equidistant from us, maybe fifteen feet away. The bottle that she is referring to has bright pink flowers on the label and a bright pink metal cap. There are several bottles of it virtually shouting at us from the cooler.
"There are at least three that I can see from here."
"Well good, because you only have two over here."
"How many will you be needing?"
"I want three."
I retrieve one from the cooler, thanking the man I had been helping and plastering on a smile I reserve for PEOPLE WHO SUCK.
"Here you go. What else can I help you with?"
"I need another Riesling."
"Any particular Riesling?
"It's... (*sigh)... I can't remember... It's in a blue bottle. It's made my Sell-bick."

By this I know that she means Selbach, and because I try very hard not to be an asshole (out loud in front of customers when I am at work, anyway), I chose to ignore her mispronunciation, and instead started to answer her.
"We have some of their wines, but we don't have any in a blue bottle." I walk around the side of the wine rack, pointing out the ones that we do have.

"It's SELL-BICK," she says, more loudly, as if this will magically make the wine she wants appear.
"Yes, I heard you. We have several of their wines, but not in a blue bottle."
"The only place that has it is a little- well, I don't mean to be ugly, but it's owned by a foreigner, and I just don't- I prefer to buy from Americans."

There was a short pause, long enough for me to think twice about telling her to go fuck herself, and just long enough for her to realize that she was talking to the wrong 'Merkin.
"Well, we don't have that," I said, and turned very literally on my heel and walked away from her. I approached the next customer, smiling, and gave him help he neither needed nor asked for, just so I didn't have to look at her again.

My bosses were not born here. They came here and opened a store and raised their kids in the back and worked their asses off and memorized the Constitution and learned the language and became citizens and paid taxes and bought a house and cars and became part of a community. They have been here over twenty years. They are successful. They are good people and fantastic employers. What the fuck does it mean to be American? Who isn't a foreigner? How many generations does it take?

I only wish I had been quick enough to start belting out the lyrics to "Hot Blooded", or jump up and down going "Holy shit!! Lou Gramm has a liquor store in Athens?! Where?!" Ah well. Next time. There's sure to be a next time.
On a similar note,this is pretty damned awesome.
Also, a scoop of Breyer's Vanilla Bean ice cream is especially good in a Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout. Seriously.