With one arm tied behind his back, this would be impossible

I pay at the pump. It's the way God intended for us to get gas when he invented cars. But if I can have more experiences like the one late Monday night inside a service station near the interstate, I will have to switch back to cash.

I had a crisp $100 bill in my wallet (minus a Lily purchase I made in central Texas earlier that day) that was begging to be wasted on overpriced fuel.

Standing in front of me in the station was a man in scrubs holding his own wallet and a soda in one hand. His only hand I should say.

Clearly, the clerk shared my curiosity.

"Work at the hospital?" she asked with a tone that was impressively casual.

"Yes I do," he replied.

"What do you do over there?" she inquired, giving voice to the question we all wanted to know.

"I'm a surgeon," he answered with a quick point of his right - and sole - index finger to his chest, where his ID badge hung.

Mouth slightly agape, I watched as the clerk focused her glance to his credentials.

"Hm," she stated plainly. "Cool. $4.63 is your change."

Clutch, Juanita. Very clutch.