The lunch rush is in full swing at Noodles & Company in Sugar House, with Arturo "A.B." Bahena ringing up orders and racing from table to table with bowls of Japanese noodles and macaroni and cheese.

Bahena has always stood out in the restaurant, with his chatty demeanor and megawatt smile, but he also has another attribute that causes customers to take notice. The 32-year-old cashier takes on his daily duties without the benefit of something that most everyone takes for granted:

A pair of hands.

Born with arms that end just below the elbow, Bahena, who lives in Rose Park, has learned to make do with a disability that could have stopped him from doing the most mundane of tasks.

Whether chopping an onion, scraping a windshield or shaving, he has determinedly taught himself how to coordinate the strength of his arms with a few boneless fingers that extend only half an inch.

"I thank my mother for forcing me to make use of what I have," says Bahena, who used his feet to lift things as a toddler until Clara Bahena made him wear shoes.

"She could see early on that I would have to adjust to a world where people use their hands constantly," he says. "She told me once that she wondered how I'd survive. But I was always the kind of guy who kept trying until I found a new way."

Inspired by his positive outlook, a few of Bahena's coworkers recommended that I drop by one afternoon to hear his story.

"He's always had a 'can do' attitude," manager Christen Snow says. "We look past his arms being so short now and hardly even notice it anymore. A.B. is just part of the family, part of the team."

Deftly holding a fork between his arms and dipping it into a Free Lunch of mushroom stroganoff doused with chili sauce, Bahena grins.

"That's what I've always aimed for — to be thought of as one of the guys, like anybody else. But when I was growing up, that wasn't very easy."

While attending Highland High School, some of his classmates laughed at him and called him "Nubs," wounding Bahena's self-esteem.

"I was afraid to speak up and tell them that just because somebody is disabled doesn't mean they don't have a brain," he says. "I was pretty shy then and kept to myself. Basically, I just found it easier to try and avoid people."

Like any teenager, though, Bahena longed to fit in. He dreamed of buying a new pair of Nike shoes, but they were a luxury on his dad's prep-cook salary, especially with eight other siblings at home.

So at age 16, after teaching himself how to drive a five-speed, Bahena went to the old Crossroads Mall downtown and applied as a custodian. The supervisor took him to the food court and handed him a mop. "Show me what you can do," he said.