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It took a minute for this to register with me. Surely not. Full? Why are you telling me this now, after I've herded my kid through a massive crowd, made her wait in a long concession stand line, and then plunked down my money on overpriced junk food, all while getting her hopes up?

Once it sunk in, all I could do was look this kid in the eye and say, "What?" To which he repeated the information. And all I could do was look at him, look at Clara Jane, look back at him and say the only words capable of passing through my brain: "Do you have any idea how hard this is?"

He smirked and said, "Actually, I do."

No. If you did, you wouldn't be smirking.

In a fit of frustration, I threw the popcorn and soda into the trash and stormed off. Yes, not the most dignified response, but shit. Here we've gone through all this trouble, spent money, and now I'm left with the task of trying to explain to my 2.5 year-old that no, I was wrong and we're not going to be seeing Curious George after all.

If that kid really knew how hard that was, there would have been no smirk. There would have been at least an ounce of compassion.

I scooped up Clara Jane and stormed out of the theater, trying to find a way to make her understand that our plans had been thwarted. But there's no way to do that with a kid her age. All she knows is that I've told her we're going to do something great, and all of a sudden I'm going back on my word.

I caught my breath, cleared a smidge of the anger cloud from my brain, and realized I needed to go back inside and find a manager. Shit, my middle name is "I Need to Speak to a Manager". I've waited tables. I've worked retail. I've worked in hotels. I know what constitutes good customer service and what doesn't, and I've never had any qualms about speaking up when I think a company falls short in that area.

I once got a $300 restaurant bill wiped clean because of a lazy server. I know my ways around managers.

So, back inside we went, and I was sent to a manager. I explained as calmly as I could (which was surprisingly calm, considering I had a load of those someone-fucked-with-my-kid hormones coursing through my system) that I understand that a free screening of a fairly recent, popular movie on one of the hottest days of the year is going to fill up fast. My problem was with the fact that they waited until the last minute to inform the public that the theaters were full. They could have posted a sign on the door, preventing parents from bringing their kids into the lobby and getting their hopes up. Clara Jane's been to one movie at this theater. She knew where we were and why we were there as soon as we walked in. Further, my problem was with the fact that they didn't have employees at the concession stands pass along this info. Instead, haggered moms (and a few dads, but not many), weary from the heat and wrangling excited kids, were left to deal with the cattle-call conditions, paying exorbatant concessions stand prices, all for naught.

That's just unethical and wrong.

"Well, we still have seats available for Cheaper by the Dozen 2", the manager said.

What the hell is the deal with local movie theaters trying to get me to take my kid to mediocre Steve Martin movies instead of Curious Fucking George? Honestly. When Clara Jane's old enough for Steve Martin, she'll be introduced to a banjo-playing doofus in a white suit with an arrow through his head, just as God intended.

I pointed to Clara Jane and asked, "Does she look like someone who would appreciate that movie?" Translation: "Have you ever actually met a little kid in your entire life, Dumbass?"

To his credit, the manager did refund my concession money without me asking. I didn't go in for a refund; in fact, when I complain to a manager, it's never to get my money back. The money isn't the issue. It's the principle. Besides, how many of the moms behind me, who were hauling around more than a single disappointed kid, would have had the energy to protest? I'm sure a lot of moms just took their overpriced, unhealthy snacks with them as they left with their kids, simply because it's too hard to fight for what's right when you're beat down and exhausted.

The thing is, this movie stuff goes against so much I believe in. I'm not a fan of big Hollywood movies or the corporate megaplexes they've spawned. It's a culture that's all about profit and leaves little to creativity and art. In getting Clara Jane hyped about this movie for the past few weeks, that voice in the back of my head kept tsk-tsking me. Why am I doing this? She's too young. Kids movies are just 90-minute advertisements. Granted, her first movie was Wallace and Grommit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, which managed to sidestep a lot of the crap I don't like about movies. But still - why was I so intent on exposing her to something I dislike so much?

Desperation, partially. When it's been this hot for this long, any new activities that don't involve turning my kid into a human pot roast sounds good. Also, the desire to give Clara Jane a chance to discover something that she might love, even if I'm not crazy about it. The lure of a new experience. But mostly desperation. Please get me out of this house for a few hours with the built-in big-screen babysitter.

We took our refunded money to a nearby coffeehouse we love, and had more fun than we would have had at the movie. We sat in our comfy armchairs, shared a muffin. She had a milk while I had a hand-crafted latte that cost less than the watered-down soda at the theater. It was made by someone who took the time to ask Clara Jane's name and talk to her; someone who took the time to talk to me. Clara Jane pretended her straw was a saxaphone and played along with the piped-in jazz. She read books, and then snuggled with me. She told me how much fun she had at the coffeehouse. And she was right - sitting together at the coffeehouse, making up our own games, talking and connecting was a lot more fun than quietly sitting in a dark theater, watching glorified TV while the throng of kids fussed and screamed around us.

But I still had it in my head that I needed to follow through with my Curious George braincandy promise. That's what pissed me off more than anything - that I let a goddamn movie theater turn me into a liar in my kid's eyes. We stopped by Target on the way home, since they used to have DVDs of Curious George shorts. That's right, I said used to have. There wasn't one to be found.

I gave up. I set myself up to disappoint my child. That's the way it is and there's no way around it.

I made a quick pass through the kid's book aisle (single aisle, as opposed to the aisles and aisles of kids DVDs) on my guilt march out of the store, when Clara Jane suddenly lunged for the shelf. She grabbed a big, bright red book: A Treasury of Curious George. Eight Curious George stories in one beautiful book, filled with the original H.A. Rey artwork instead of the creepily-slick movie animation. She looked at me and announced, "I need this book, Mama."

I bought the book, which is probably what I should have done in the first place.

So, what have I learned from this experience?

1. When a corporation touts something as being kid/family-friendly, it's probably not.

2. I should always listen to that voice in my head that tsk-tsks. It's never wrong. Ever.

3. Clara Jane cares more about books than movies, and that makes me prouder than anything.

4. Never, ever, ever build up Clara Jane's hopes unless I'm 100% sure I can follow through.

5. Regal Cinemas Free Family Film Festival is neither free nor fun. If you've considered taking your kids to this, don't.

From now on we'll be sticking to all the great, free stuff for kids through the awesome public libraries in both St. Louis county and city (which is open to us county-dwellers, I recently learned). Free programs that promote literacy, presented by people who love kids and books. You just can't go wrong with that.

As a sidenote, about five minutes after I posted last night, I read an article on NPR about the proliferation of advertising to toddlers. Touche'. I get it. No more corporate whore. I promise.