Every red blooded American loves to grill.  Unfortunately for you, your RA is anything but American.  I heard he was born in Portugal.  Ugh, what a dickhead!  The second his nose detects the smell of well-marbled, fat-reduced freedom, he’ll be practically girl-punching his way through your door to catch you in the unholy act of cooking food to eat.  Good thing you have a plan. 

First things first, throw any meat you may be cooking out of the window to get rid of the evidence.  Unplug the grill and hide it behind your back (CAREFUL, that baby will be hot, so don’t touch the grilling surface). 

Next, answer the door like, "Oh hey, what's going on, Craig?"  While he's all, "I smell something cooking!  Blah blah blah," open the grill and mash the heated metal into his face.  He’s ruined his last cookout! 

As he lies writhing on the floor, hot burger grease quickly cauterizing his corneas, make a run for it.  Who needs college when you can live the much more entertaining life of a fugitive on the run!  And don’t worry, you can always buy another Foreman grill with the money you grabed out of your RA's pockets before you ran off into your destiny!