In Which I Have One Last Run-In With Bureacracy

I arrived at Thessaloniki's Makedonia Airport yesterday, exhausted and sweaty, and two hours late because Gatwick was a mess. Our flight was immediately herded into something that I will call a line, but only for the lack of a better word. (Oh wait! I found the better word! The better word is mob). We went through passport control, picked up our baggage, and headed off into the distance. It was nice to be back. It is nice to be back.
However, before I headed off into the distance, I decided to stop by the Olympic Airlines desk to ask a question about my cat's travel accomodation. (Yes, although I have not made a formal blog announcement about this, my cat is coming back to the states with me. Was there ever any doubt this would happen eventually? Was there ever a bigger pushover for cats than myself?)
I waited on line for ten minutes, explained my question to the lady behind the desk, and was referred to another window. That window referred me to another window, between puffs of cigarette smoke, and that window referred me back to the first. Well, they tried, anyway, but I protested. "I just need to know," I said "how big the carrier is allowed to be."
The lady looked at me like I was crazy. "You know," she said. "It should be small."
"Small?" I asked.
"Small," she answered. "Just bring a small case."
I walked away, pondering this. Pretty much every other airline in the world appears to have regulations specifying the size, shape, height, width, material, air holes, and writing on a container that holds a live animal. I believe Swiss Air checks that the bottom is waterproof. However, as I have been repeatedly reminded, the Greeks are not Swiss. Olympic says it should be "small." I decided that this lady maybe wasn't very well informed about the issue, and I decided to give Olympic a call. I was put on hold for ten minutes, and when I did get a chance to talk to someone, I got cut off as soon as I said γεια σασ.
I tried again, was put on hold, and was promptly cut off once again. I got on the bus, bought a new phone card, went to a new pay phone, called, and was cut off once again. It was then that I noticed that the Olympic Airlines number is actually 666-666, which makes it the sign of satan, doubled. I tried again later that evening and was told to call back this morning.
I called back this morning. Once again, the woman on the other end sounded baffled. "Size?" she asked. "You know, something...mikro."
Μικρο means 'small' in Greek. I sighed. I mean, personally, I think that the island of Folegandros is small, but I really don't think anyone would be happy if I showed up with it in my hand luggage.
"Like, something that will fit under the seat," she added.
"Are there specific dimensions for what fits under the seat?" I asked.
She paused. "Something mikro," she repeated. "Like, a handbag!"
This made me think of an acting teacher I had in high school, who used to randomly shout "A handbag in Victoria station!" That's a line from The Importance of Being Earnest. I believe one of the characters was abandoned at Victoria Station in a handbag when he was an infant. However, I do not plan to abandon my cat anywhere.
In the end, I thanked the woman, hung up, sighed, and decided I should maybe worry about something else for a change. The thing is, I don't really want to worry about the rather frightening fact that I am going home in four days, so cat carriers are a welcome alternate source of stress.