I used to be a quality controller at one of these plants (before I was diagnosed). The disabled employees sorted on an upper floor by tossing trash specific to their assignment for the day into small room sized bins in front of them. There were two bins for pet plastics, one for hdpe, one for pvc, a mixed plastics bin, a cardboard milk carton section and an aluminium section.
Tin cans went past and were caught by a magnetic system.
Glass went by all that to finally be sorted by three workers into different coloured glass bins.
I was on the bottom floor, processing each room (via trapdoors), doing a last check for missed or mistakenly thrown rubbish, the correct stuff being fed into a press which I turned into bales for stacking and shipping.
Fast and loud and dirty. But also systematic and repetitive.
It was OK for me because I eventually took over the entire bottom floor with three different stations. It often got busy enough to work through breaks to catch up, even when everyone else was on lunch.
But I owned the floor. I worked alone in my little kingdom.
There were about ten contracts along the coast and the company scored several of them which was enough to keep us going. But eventually, the local government in its impotent wisdom, decided to turn all the contracts into one big contract, winner takes all.
We didn't win.
So after working there for three years, it was over.
If you get the chance, give it a go.
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assumption makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'mption'.