Rodizio Grill: A Cautionary Tale

Editor’s Note: This post isn’t completely fair, since I was the only one of our four-person party who got sick. But that’s the dark side of the Internet, my friends.

When I came home Friday, there was a little orange paper on our door announcing that the first 50 people to call would get free dinner at Rodizio Grill. I knew there’d be a sales pitch attached, but free dinner is free dinner.

We poor folk have to make tradeoffs sometimes.

So last night, along with my brother and his wife, we went to Rodizio Grill, ate free dinner, and listened to a presentation about fire safety. Pretty cool info and very good food, so I was glad we went.

As the presentation ended, the sales guy tried to get us all to commit to an in-home “evaluation” by someone from his company so they could show us what their alarms and detectors could do for us.

I’m pretty sure my brother and I were the only two out of about 50 that wrote down “No thanks” on the card, and the sales guy was visibly miffed.

Dude, I was there for the free dinner. The knowledge was a bonus. But definitely not interested in spending $150 each on fire alarms, thank you very much.

Bad call on my part, because this guy is clearly some kind of black magician.

We came home. Around nine o’clock, I started feeling a little woozy, but fell asleep reading a book. I awoke at 11:30, stumbled into the bathroom, and moaned and groaned for half an hour. At midnight, my defenses finally broke and I surrendered up a portion of my free dinner.

As we used to say when we were Scouts, I was drivin’ the old porcelain bus, if you know what I mean.

Went to bed, woke up at one o’clock, and offered up more Brazilian delicacies. Now I know the evil sales guy has hexed me.

Wash, rinse, repeat. Three o’clock. Five o’clock.

At six o’clock, my poor wife—who had slept little thanks to me—went to the store and bought me some easy-to-eat food. Then she went to work. She loves me way too much.

So I been sippin’ Gatorade, that Great Cure-all, and chewing on ice chips all morning. I’m not a wuss, I promise.

Why, Rodizio Grill??? Are you and the evil sales guy really so petulant that you would continue to put me through this macabre scene of suffering? Loose your draconian grip on my poor stomach! So I didn’t want to buy ridiculously expensive fire alarms—so what?!?!

In return, I promise never to enter one of your establishments again. Never even go anywhere near. Ever.

I’m begging you. Stop the voodoo. End the suffering. PLEASE!!!