An Empty Can's "My Day" (Episodes 1-5) (Episode 3) The Illusion of Recycling - The Chaos of Sorting
"Separate collection? That was just an illusion held by humans. This place was just a 'remixing site'."
Thud! Falling into the truck's loading bed, I was disoriented for a while. Jumbled up with all sorts of trash, I couldn't even tell which way was up. "You okay?" I heard a beer can's voice. He was lying next to me, dented. "Yeah... but where are we going?" "To the recycling center. We get sorted again there." The truck rumbled on. About 10 minutes later, it stopped. The bin tilted again, and we all poured out. Clang! Thud! Clank! I landed on a hard floor. Lifting my head, I saw a wide, open area. Several large metal boxes stood in a row. "So this is the recycling center," the beer can said. Each box had a sign: 'Cans', 'Plastics', 'Glass Bottles', 'Paper', 'Vinyl'. "Wow, it's so well-organized!" I exclaimed in admiration. "The signs are. But what's inside..." the beer can trailed off with a bitter smile. Just then, a resident came with a black plastic bag. They opened it and started carelessly tossing the contents. A PET bottle - into the plastic bin. A can - into the plastic bin. Paper - into the plastic bin. "Hey! Excuse me! Cans go over there!" I shouted, but the resident couldn't hear me. Or rather, didn't care. "What, they're putting everything in the plastic bin?" "That's how it is," the beer can sighed. "First time here? It's always like this. This isn't a sorting center, it's a 'remixing site'."
Another resident arrived. This one seemed a bit more careful. "This is plastic... so, plastic." They put a PET bottle into the plastic bin. Good. "This is a can... oh? It has a label. Does that make it plastic?" They tossed the can into the plastic bin. "Hey, it's a can if you just take the label off!" a nearby cola can yelled. "They don't even remove the vinyl or separate the cap... and they call that recycling." A third resident. A young man. He walked while looking at his phone, then casually threw the plastic cup in his hand. It landed in the can bin. "Hey!" I shouted. "Excuse me! This is the can bin! Plastics go over there!" But he was already walking away, wearing earphones. "What is this... The signs are right there, why don't people look?" "Oh, they look. They just can't be bothered," the beer can explained. "To sort properly, you have to remove labels, separate caps, wash them... it's a hassle. So they just toss it in roughly, thinking, 'They'll sort it again over there anyway'." "Then there's no point in coming here!" "That's the illusion. The illusion of recycling." I looked around. The can bin contained plastic cups, vinyl bags, and even paper cups. The plastic bin was worse. It was a mix of everything. "We're actually the lucky ones," a voice said from beside me. It was a PET bottle, looking like a model student, clean with its label and cap removed. "I was sorted properly. Label removed, rinsed with water, and cap taken off separately. But..." the PET bottle pointed. "Look at those over there." Not far away were other PET bottles. Labels still on, caps intact, some even with liquid remaining. "We're all PET bottles, but we're discarded so differently. Who do you think is more likely to be recycled?" "You, of course." "Exactly. But you know what? When we all get mixed up again here... we become the same. The properly sorted ones, the improperly sorted ones, all become part of the problem together." I got chills hearing that.
"Does this make any sense? I did everything right!" the PET bottle cried out in frustration. "Because the owner was too lazy to remove the label, we all get judged as contaminated!" "So... what happens?" I asked. "Worst case, we're all incinerated. Not recycled, just burned." A silence fell. Just then, a facility manager appeared. Dressed in work clothes and gloves, he began to look into the bins. "Oh man, what a mess again." The man sighed and opened the can bin. "Why is there plastic in here? And paper too." He started taking out the plastics and moving them to the plastic bin. But there were too many. "Ah, I can't get every single one." In the end, he just picked out the large items and left. "Hey! Mister! Get me out too!" a plastic cup yelled from the can bin, but the man was already far away. "See? That's the reality," the PET bottle said. "The manager is only human. How much trash do you think comes in a day? Can he sort it all one by one? In the end, it just gets roughly mixed and sent off." "So we..." "If we're lucky, we get recycled. If not... incinerated or buried in a landfill." I was shocked. I thought if you sorted, it would naturally be recycled. "But you know," the beer can interjected, "the funniest part is that everyone thinks they're doing a great job at recycling." "What do you mean?" "Look. They all bring it to the recycling center. And they feel proud, thinking 'I'm protecting the environment.' But they don't remove the labels, don't wash it, don't separate the caps. It's just for show." "'Just this once'..." a water bottle mimicked. "'Even if I toss it carelessly, they'll sort it there... I'm busy... just for today...'" "And when that gathers?" the beer can pointed around. "It becomes this." The recycling center was, in a word, chaos. There was far more improperly sorted trash than properly sorted. "Look over there," the PET bottle pointed. Someone had thrown an entire trash bag into the vinyl bin. Inside the bag was a mix of everything. "That's... just general waste." "Exactly. But they threw it here. In the recycling center. Why? Because the trash can in front of their house was too far. This was closer." I was speechless. "Humans are fascinating," the beer can said. "They cry out for environmental protection, but they hate getting their own hands dirty. They can't give up convenience. And then they say, 'The system is flawed'." "But isn't the system really a problem too?" I retorted. "You're right. The system is a problem. The sorting standards are complicated, there aren't enough recycling companies, and there's a shortage of staff. But..." the beer can looked me straight in the eye. "If you only blame the system, nothing changes. Someone has to do it right." The PET bottle jumped in. "Exactly! Like me! I was sorted properly! I'm proud of that!" "But you said it was useless, didn't you?"
I asked. "It's not useless. It's difficult," the PET bottle said. "I was done right. What if there were 100 PET bottles like me? We'd get recycled. For sure. The problem is, there are too few like me." In that moment, I realized. Recycling wasn't an illusion. It just wasn't being practiced properly. "Everyone," I said. "We're here because of humans. But it seems like humans are trying in their own way..." "Trying?" the beer can scoffed. "Is removing one label 'trying'?" "No, not that... but at least they bring it to the recycling center. They could have just thrown it away." "That's because of the law, not their conscience." "Still. It's a start, isn't it? Even if it's not perfect." I looked around. It was definitely a mess. More wrong than right. But still, we made it this far. We could have been thrown out with the regular trash. "Hey, Premium," the beer can said. "Don't be so positive. Reality is harsh. Most of us won't be recycled." "I know. But that doesn't mean recycling itself is bad. It's because humans aren't doing it right." "So what are you suggesting?" "Shouldn't we just do it right?" Suddenly, it became quiet. "You... you're really naive," the beer can laughed. But this time, it wasn't a cynical laugh. It was strangely warm. "But you know, sometimes that kind of naivety is necessary. Nothing changes with cynicism alone." Then, we heard the sound of a truck. A collection truck. The manager started lifting the bins one by one onto the truck. "Alright, we're off." "To where?" "The recycling center. That's where the real sorting begins. By machines, by human hands. Separating the usable from the unusable." I got nervous. "Will I... be usable?" "Who knows. It depends on how clean you are, how properly you've been emptied." I looked at myself. Completely empty. Not dented. No label attached. 'I'm ready.' The truck started moving. Inside the rattling truck, I thought. Recycling wasn't an illusion. As long as it's done right. By humans, by us, by the system. If everyone just cared a little bit more. Even if it's not perfect, if we can get a little better. Isn't that meaningful enough?
My Thought! We often think, "It's just me." We believe it's okay not to remove one label, not to separate one cap, to just toss it carelessly. Someone will take care of it there. The system will handle it. But what the empty can saw at the recycling center was the colossal chaos created by the accumulation of "just me." When even a properly sorted PET bottle is judged as contaminated because of improperly discarded items, is your "just me" really just one? Or do a thousand, ten thousand of them gather to bring down the entire system? It doesn't have to be perfect. But "careless" and "best effort" are different. The thing you're throwing away today, did you really throw it away properly?
Preview for the next episode: Episode 4 'Meeting Life's Mentors in the Collection Truck' - Is life over once you get dented? #AnEmptyCansDay #TheTruthAboutRecycling #ItsJustMe #TheIllusionOfTheEnvironment #SmallActions
