Customs

On the flight to Vietnam, we sat next to a man who was born in Vietnam and moved to the US at the age of ten. He had recently returned to Vietnam to work for a foreign multi-national. A very western man with an inside scoop, he gave us a page full of what are hope are to be invaluable tips. From taxi companies to itineraries and he wrote it all down.
It's funny how some people can't resist the urge to be helpful. He was that sort of man. He wasn't satisfied with a list of tips. He encouraged us to get out ahead of the crowd and race towards customs with him as the line up was about to swell. Which we did to no avail as there was a prior flight just ahead of us.
Customs was a large room with a dozen chaotic lines. Each one growing quickly and looking daunting. Each one save for three. The three short lines all had signs that clearly ruled us out - not having a diplomatic passport or other such ID. Our new found guide told us to follow him into a short "Investors" line. He was satisfied there. He spoke to a guard and walked to the front of the line, still beckoning us to follow. He took our passports and told us he was going to tell them that we were investors.
Before we could discuss it, he was gone. Gone only three feet, but an important guard controlled three feet. Both of us were nervous. Too nervous to want to admitt we were nervous. Donna braved the words,"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with this."
But then the customs guard called us over. He asked if we were there as tourists and not wanting to lie and not wanting to go back and get in a now massive line, I quietly said, "Yes." I don't know if I thought that the quiet part would help somehow or if it was just a typical twelve year old reaction.
But that was it. Two stamps and we were through. I guess we'll just have to see about getting out.