Eventually Liz and Satan came to the tire department. There were huge piles of tires with labels like GPX998SR6198SL734A Type CAA32DF.93. "How can anyone know what they are buying with labeling like that?" asked Liz.
"They can't. They have to ask the salesmen . The salesmen just make up what they tell the buyers. Doesn't really matter. The tires are all really the same -- Treadshreader 650s. Unconditionally unsafe at all speeds below 135mph. Since there are only 12 miles of paved road in hell and it's all one continuous, unending traffic jam, it doesn't matter what kind of tires they use anyway. They can't get going fast enough to hurt any one.
They made their way through the tottering stacks of tires to a plain door marked "Janitor's closet", "Biohazard" "Authorized Personnel Only" "Protective Gear Required" and "Up to Date Will Mandatory for Entry". The latter was on a container or dusty forms marked "Arkansas Holographic Will Kit. Please use dark colored Crayon" The Devil opened the door and waved Liz through. There was a short hall with another door marked only "You'll be Sorry". Liz looked at the Devil and raised her eyebrows, "Will I?"
"Probably. It's a myth that all decisions have a good result and a bad one. Lots just have two bad results.. But I can guarantee you that going back that way." He jerked his thumb back toward Trash mart, "Isn't going to lead to anything good."