I couldn’t earn a living wage when I got out of prison. Now I run a successful business

Before going to a federal prison camp in Alderson, West Virginia, I worked as a barista at a popular coffee chain. The involuntary career change from accounting, my previous line of work, was due to tax charges being brought against me. The barista interview was great, and the manager hired me almost on the spot. He had no experience, he was over 40 years old, with only administrative and accounting training. Still, she felt I was an ideal candidate for the open position. I had a rough start and there were several times I thought I might get fired because I had no idea what a latte was let alone how to steam milk.

Over the next year, I learned my job and excelled at customer service. My manager even commented once that the culture of the store has changed for the better since I’ve been there because of my attitude. Just before the fateful day of my sentencing hearing, I decided to share my legal troubles with my manager. She chose to testify on my behalf. With tears in his eyes, he read a review from a customer who was so pleased with our interaction that he shared it with the company. In August 2019, I left my job and my home to surrender. I was comforted by the thought that I could return to a job and a company that I had enjoyed.

I was released in less than a year because of the pandemic. After wearing a monitor up to my ankle, I called my old manager to let him know that I was home early and that I was excited to get back to work as soon as possible. I was better and more focused and ready to show it. Weeks went by and she didn’t make me an offer. Finally, she informed me that she was afraid to submit my name for reinstatement because she could not justify hiring someone who had been in prison. After a few months, he finally called and made an offer to come back. Even if everyone’s rate of pay went up because they agreed to work during COVID-19, it would return to the same $9.34 an hour. My work schedule was also less accommodating than before. Co-workers who were there before my incarceration began to treat me differently. My manager constantly looked at my ankles and the length of my pants to see if my monitor was visible.

Eventually I looked elsewhere for employment. It was a struggle because I could no longer work in the financial sector. Nobody trusted me. After a period of incarceration, your mind and body begin to deteriorate, so working in a warehouse or manufacturing is not reasonable. Your temperament is not ready and the sudden change of environment is shocking. Once the ankle monitor was removed, I worried about my probation officer coming to see me at work; no matter how hard they tried to look like your friend, they still look like probation officers.

There were several days when I was not equipped with the mental or emotional fortitude to leave the corner of my bed in the corner of my bedroom. What I was able to do was participate in the online course of Inmates to Entrepreneurs (I2E), a non-profit organization that makes possible what its name suggests. I was able to write a business plan for Queen Coffee Bean. I was able to research more about coffee and the coffee industry. I was able to create a website to sell the beans I was roasting. It gave me the opportunity to share what I loved with a community of people who only knew me because of the joy I sent to their door. Because of the relationships I had built through I2E and the encouraging feedback from customers, I was able to start rebuilding my confidence. I’m writing this right now as I sit in my thriving coffee shop in High Point, North Carolina, where people gather for delicious drinks, specialty coffee beans, and an inclusive atmosphere.

When I wake up every day, I have another chance to live my dream. I serve coffee to people who empathize with my past and support my business, but who won’t hire me to work on theirs. Without entrepreneurship, I’m not sure where I’d be. I have not found a place that will pay me a living wage, or a company with resources for returning citizens. I love my life, and that is largely because of my opportunity and willingness to work for myself. I am learning so much in my entrepreneurial journey and becoming a better person for it. I can’t say the same would happen if I had to live a life by the standards of people who have no idea what I’ve experienced. I am enjoying my journey from prisoner to entrepreneur.

Claudia L. Shivers is the founder of Queen Coffee Bean in High Point, North Carolina, and a graduate and board member of Inmates to Entrepreneurs. She is a mother, social justice advocate, and writer for The Winters Group.

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