the woman in charge of recruitment had asked Jamy her religion, to which the psychologist had replied: “I don’t have one.” The woman had pursued the point. “So you’re an atheist then,” she’d asked, fiddling with her pen as if she had a box to check on an imaginary questionnaire. Jamy Pudlowski had shrugged, “I don’t give a damn. To me God is like bridge—I never think about it. So I don’t define myself by the fact that I don’t give a damn about bridge, nor do I align myself with people who talk about the fact that they too couldn’t give a damn about bridge.”
