Ever peer into a recycle can when you pass one by?
You can tell a lot by your neighbors by what’s in the glass bin: what they drink, their taste in wine and beer, do they use plain tomato sauce in the making of spaghetti, or depend on a pre-cooked concoction? 
Is that piece of broken glass Baccarat or Target? Do they use the safety of bottled water or are they risk takers, depending on the tap? If it is bottled, how much are they willing to spend on what should be inherently God-given fluid? If the olives are nicoise I know they have patience (it takes time to get those pits out). If they are pitted black, I predict they are introverts, unwilling to look beyond the facile.
I think a giant question mark should grace the side of each recycle station.
The people up the street have a taste for Bordeaux wine and Japanese beer. I like them already. They recycle their “POM” glasses instead of using them in their juice glass inventory.
I admire their ability to move on. My cupboard is full of benign “POM” that made it into the house via one of my two daughters. I don’t have the courage to sacrifice it to the shards of recycling.
Alas, I suspect it’s more a refusal to part with something tied to my children, now grown, than anything having to do with landfill management. There are still Disney ceramics lining the windowsills of the now vacant rooms of both girls, for heaven’s sake.
After all, what conclusions might be drawn from a glass bin full of recycled Pluto, Mickey and Bashful?