The animatronic albino gorilla couldn't recall what specifically compelled him to apply for a job at the rainforest-themed restaurant, given the circumstances. On a trip to the mall, after his much more substantial trip to shore aboard his vessel, the Coaster, he was stopped by some very panicked-looking security guards.
"How the hell did this thing get out of the restaurant? I mean, aren't they bolted to the floor? I didn't think they could even do anything besides roar every ten minutes! Did you?"
The other slow and quiet security guard took his hat off and purposelessly touched his head.
The bewildered guard proceeded to bluster, "At least we don't have a real gorilla on our hands. Page the Wristband Pavilion and tell everyone to calm down."
The Gorilla followed the guards past the rows upon rows of Jet-Pack kiosks to the Food-Court where, located in between the Chocolate Croissant buffet and a Hell-Themed Restaurant., sure enough, there was a rainforest-themed restaurant filled with animatronic beasts roaring every ten minutes to the heavily-shrouded thrill of ideologically-starving patrons
The Manager-themed Safari Guide of the restaurant approached the security guards and the gorilla briskly, starting the question-themed sentence, "What the hell is this?" from about 25 feet away.
"We found your gorilla." offered the guard witheringly.
"First of all this is not a gorilla. Do you have any idea the kind of paperwork I'd be looking at to keep a real gorilla in here? Secondly, this is not my gorilla-themed animatronic. This thing is a free agent, so we'll have to restrain him somewhere. Put him next to the cheetah."
This was all moving a little too fast for the gorilla's liking. He wondered how a trip to the mall for something as basic as a Jet-Pack could turn so quickly into a life of captivity. Regardless, he figured it would be better to actually apply for the role as a job, as opposed to indentured slavery. After filling out what could not have been much less than the paperwork necessary for employing a real gorilla, he thought, the gorilla began his first shift, right next to my section.
Getting the roar timing down was a challenge initially and I helped remind him with a series of cues we developed. When I would stare brokenly in disbelief at myself in one of the mirrors meant to give the restaurant the appearance of twice as much rainforest, he would know he had approximately 30 seconds until show-time. When I would laugh hollowly while listing what I was going to be-right-back-with, he knew he was supposed to jerkily pound his chest. When I would accidently spill an entire plaster bucket of ice tea on someone, he knew it was time to spend the remainder of his days considering which one of us was more of a joke.
Unbeknownst to him at the time, he would eventually accept an offer from the bed bugs to spend his life making coffee tables in an apartment building in exchange for stripping. I worked there until the world had a legitimate experience with nature thousands of years later and was eaten by a Silverback gorilla that I was, unfortunately, unable to discern as real in time to put my Jet-Pack on. I wouldn't have been able to muster the intention anyway.
The last thing I saw were the gorillas climbing up into the animatronic forest and shitting in ecstasy while re-enacting what the restaurant had looked like only moments before they arrived.