Clanks and Clatters: Sensory Details at the Recycling Center

A Saturday at the Recycling Center

1On Saturday morning, I rode with my uncle Rafael to the recycling center where he works. Before we even reached the gate, I heard glass bottles crashing into a metal bin, like a hundred dishes breaking at once. Uncle Rafael handed me a bright orange vest and a pair of stiff canvas gloves.

2Inside the big building, a wide black conveyor belt rumbled past us. It carried a jumble of crushed milk jugs, dented soup cans and soggy cardboard boxes. Workers in yellow hard hats plucked out plastic bags and tossed them into a tall bin. The air smelled sour, like old orange juice left in a hot car.

3Uncle Rafael pointed to a huge magnet that hung above the belt. With a loud clack, it yanked the steel cans right off the belt, and they clung to it like burrs on a sock. I pressed my glove against one cold can, and it would not budge.

4Next, we climbed a narrow metal staircase to a window high above the floor. From up there, I could see enormous cubes of flattened paper stacked in rows taller than my dad. Each cube was wrapped with shiny wire. A forklift beeped as it backed up and lifted one cube onto a truck.

5At lunch, we sat on an overturned crate outside and ate peanut butter sandwiches. My throat felt dusty, so the cold water from my thermos tasted extra sweet. Behind us, the bottles kept clinking and crashing.

6On the drive home, I looked at the empty soup can in my lunch bag. Next week, it would ride that rumbling belt, and the giant magnet would snatch it up with a clack.