This article is part of a seven-chapter story following Jack on their journey to start a Golf Simulator Business.
Inspired by the guide 37 Tips for Starting a Golf Simulator Business, the series blends practical steps with storytelling to show what starting a business really feels like.
Exploring Startup Costs and Hidden Surprises
What Does It Really Cost to Chase a Dream?
The numbers stare back at me from the spreadsheet, and they’re not blinking first. Every cell represents real money—our money—that will vanish into this business whether it succeeds or fails.
I’m sitting at my kitchen table at 5 AM, my third cup of coffee growing cold while I wrestle with the reality of startup costs. The romantic vision of owning my own business crashes into the hard math of making it happen. This isn’t about golf anymore. It’s about whether we can afford to bet our retirement on four bays and a dream.
My wife appears in her robe, glances at the screen, and sighs. “Still playing with those numbers?”
“Not playing,” I mutter. “Trying to make them work.”
She pours herself coffee and sits beside me. “Show me the real ones. Not the optimistic ones you’ve been massaging all week.”
The True Cost of Opening Day
I’ve been gathering quotes for three weeks, and each conversation adds another line item I hadn’t considered. The simulator sales rep mentions delivery and installation. The contractor reminds me about permits and inspections. The insurance agent lists coverage I’ve never heard of. The lawyer explains why I need an operating agreement even as a single-member LLC.
“Let me organize this mess,” Ellen, my accountant, says during our Tuesday meeting. She takes my folder of estimates, receipts, and scribbled notes, spreading them across her conference table like evidence in a crime scene.
“You’re thinking about this wrong,” she says. “Stop listing every screw and nail. Think in buckets. Big buckets that won’t surprise you later.”
We spend three hours creating order from chaos. By the end, I have two numbers that matter: what it costs to open the doors, and what it costs to keep them open.
Startup Costs
Budget: $372,000 (initial projection $347,500 with contingency and change orders)
The number makes me dizzy. Three hundred forty-seven thousand dollars before I sell a single bucket of balls or pour a single beer. Ellen walks me through the reality of each bucket.
Equipment dominates—four commercial-grade simulators with launch monitors, impact screens, and projection systems. The good ones that won’t break after a thousand drives.
Add the enclosures, hitting mats, and club racks. Then the bar equipment, kitchen basics, furniture, sound system, and point-of-sale hardware.
“You’re not buying toys,” Paul the contractor reminds me when I balk at simulator prices. “You’re buying commercial equipment that needs to survive drunk bachelor parties and angry golfers who slice everything.”
Build-out comes next. Even with the landlord’s $35,000 contribution, I’m looking at serious money. HVAC modifications for year-round comfort. Electrical upgrades to handle the equipment load. The bar installation. Sound dampening between bays.
Flooring that can handle golf shoes and spilled beer. Bathrooms that don’t embarrass us. Signage that people can actually see from the road.
The “soft costs” feel anything but soft. Legal fees for the LLC formation, lease review, and permit applications. Insurance deposits. Point-of-sale software setup. Website development. Brand design.
Initial marketing materials. Staff training before we open. Utility deposits. The liquor license alone requires a $5,000 bond.
“Don’t forget working capital,” Ellen adds. “You need cash to operate before revenue starts flowing.” She recommends three months of operating expenses as a buffer. Another $60,000 that just sits there, waiting for problems.
I stare at the total until the numbers blur. This is our entire savings plus a significant loan. No safety net. No do-overs.
Operating Costs — Monthly Total: $43,000
The monthly nut is equally sobering. Roughly forty-three thousand dollars every single month, whether we’re packed or empty.
Rent leads the parade at $8,500, including common area maintenance and our percentage of property taxes.
Utilities for a 7,200-square-foot space with constant climate control and equipment running twelve hours a day. Insurance that covers general liability, liquor liability, equipment breakdown, and a dozen other risks I didn’t know existed.
Staffing projections assume lean operations initially. Jerry as operations manager. Two part-time bay attendants. Jennifer teaching lessons on commission. David consulting on technical issues as needed. Even keeping it minimal, payroll with taxes and benefits eats up ~$15,000 monthly.
“Don’t forget yourself,” Ellen reminds me. “The business needs to pay you something, even if it’s minimal at first.”
I’ve budgeted a modest salary—enough to cover our basic household expenses once my hotel insurance runs out.
My wife will keep working, providing our real safety net, but the business needs to demonstrate it can eventually support us both.
The loan payment sits heavy at about $4,100 monthly for seven years (SBA terms at ~11% on a $240,000 loan). Marketing budget of $2,000 seems both too much and not enough. Software subscriptions for booking, customer management, and simulator updates.
Food and beverage inventory. Maintenance contracts. Cleaning supplies. The thousand small expenses that add up to real money.
“This assumes everything goes perfectly,” Ellen says. “Equipment doesn’t break. Staff doesn’t quit. No one sues you.”
Perfect never happens.
The Quote Parade
Every vendor wants to be helpful, which means they want to sell me more than I need. The simulator rep insists I need the top-tier launch monitors.
The furniture dealer shows me leather couches that cost more than my car. The kitchen equipment supplier assumes I’m opening a full restaurant.
I learn to push back. “What do successful facilities actually buy?” becomes my standard question. The answers are revealing.
“Honestly?” the simulator rep finally admits. “Most successful places buy our mid-tier system for three bays and one high-end for serious golfers. The difference in customer satisfaction is minimal.”
That saves $30,000.
The furniture dealer’s assistant quietly mentions their warehouse sale. “Same stuff, last year’s colors, sixty percent off.”
Another $8,000 saved.
Paul suggests phasing the build-out. “Get four bays running and generating revenue. Add the fifth bay in year two when you have cash flow.”
Smart. Painful to delay, but smart.
Hidden Costs Nobody Mentions
The expensive surprises come from nowhere. The city requires a traffic study because we’re adding a bar component—$3,500.
The fire marshal demands an upgraded suppression system—$7,000. The point-of-sale system needs annual licenses for each terminal—$200 monthly. The simulators require calibration every quarter—$500 per bay.
“Welcome to business ownership,” Mike from Cleveland laughs when I call him in frustration. “My first year, I spent fifteen thousand on things that weren’t in any budget. ADA compliance upgrades. Soundproofing complaints. Software integration that should have been included but wasn’t.”
I add a 10% contingency to every category. Then I add another 10% because I’m learning that optimism is expensive.
The Profit Reality Check
Revenue projections require brutal honesty. I study three comparable facilities, adjusting their numbers for our market. Best case: $125,000 monthly after year one. Realistic case: $75,000 monthly for the first six months, growing to $95,000 by year-end. Worst case: $45,000 monthly if everything goes wrong.
At roughly $43,000 in baseline monthly operating costs, I need about $1,450 in daily revenue just to break even. That’s roughly twenty-eight hours of bay rental at $52 per hour. Every single day. No holidays, no slow seasons, no equipment failures.
“Most facilities lose money for six months,” Ellen says gently. “Plan for it.”
I run scenarios until my eyes burn. What if corporate events don’t materialize? What if leagues don’t fill? What if the economy tanks? Each scenario requires different responses—cut hours, reduce staff, add programs, increase marketing. But they all require one thing: enough cash to survive the learning curve.
The Funding Puzzle
The SBA loan officer reviews my application with the expression of someone who’s seen too many dreams die.
“Hospitality experience helps,” he says. “But this is entertainment, retail, and food service combined. High risk.”
The terms aren’t terrible but aren’t great. $250,000 at 11% for seven years. Personal guarantee required. Our house as collateral. My wife has to co-sign.
“I need to see 30% equity investment,” he adds. “Skin in the game.”
That’s $107,000 from our savings. Everything we’ve built over twenty-eight years of hotel work. My wife signs the papers without hesitation, but I see her hand tremble slightly.
“It’s just money,” she says that night. “We can make more money. We can’t make more time.”
Building the Bridge
The gap between opening and profitability keeps me awake. We need $60,000 minimum to cover the negative cash flow months. Another $20,000 for unexpected problems. Plus our personal expenses while the business finds its footing.
I create three scenarios:
Optimistic: Break even by month four, profitable by month six. Requires hitting 60% of revenue projections immediately.
Realistic: Break even by month eight, profitable by year two. Assumes slow build, typical seasonal patterns, normal problems.
Pessimistic: Bleeding money for a year, decision point at eighteen months. Would require additional investment or closing.
“Which one do you believe?” my wife asks.
“Realistic, but I’m planning for pessimistic.”
We refinance the house to pull out extra equity. Cut personal expenses to the bone. She picks up extra shifts. I negotiate keeping my hotel health insurance through COBRA for six months. Every dollar we save extends our runway.
The Go/No-Go Moment
Sunday evening, we spread everything across the dining room table. Bank statements. Loan documents.
Projections. Construction bids. Equipment quotes. The business plan that’s now forty pages of reality instead of dreams.
“Last chance to back out,” I say.
She studies the numbers like she’s done a hundred times. The startup costs that will evaporate whether this works or not. The monthly obligations that don’t care about slow seasons. The personal guarantees that put everything at risk.
“What’s the worst case?” she asks.
We lose everything. House included. I’m sixty-four and starting over.
“And the best case?”
“We build something real. Something ours. Maybe clear two hundred thousand a year once established.”
“And the likely case?”
I think about Mike’s experience, Tammy’s warnings, the reality of every small business.
“We scrape by for two years. Work harder than we’ve ever worked. Learn expensive lessons. Build slowly. Make enough to justify the risk by year three. Have something to sell in ten years when we’re really ready to retire.”
She reaches for the loan documents. “Sounds better than dying in a hotel lobby.”
Three Numbers That Matter
Before we sign, I write three numbers on a sticky note and put it on the refrigerator:
$347,500 — What it costs to open ~$43,000 — Baseline monthly operating costs (with current loan terms)
$75,000 — Minimum monthly revenue to survive
Every decision from now on gets measured against these numbers. Can’t afford the fancy logo design because it threatens the $347,500. Can’t hire the extra bartender yet because it pushes us over $42,000. Must hit twenty bookings on Saturday to reach $75,000.
The numbers are brutal but clarifying. No more dreaming about what could be. Only planning for what must be.
“You know what’s funny?” my wife says as we organize the papers. “Everyone talks about following your passion. Nobody mentions you need a calculator.”
Tomorrow I wire the lease deposit. Paul starts permits. Equipment orders begin. The clock starts ticking on our burn rate. But tonight, we sit with our spreadsheets and wine, two people who’ve worked for others our entire lives, about to bet everything on ourselves.
The numbers don’t lie. This will be harder than we imagine. More expensive than we’ve budgeted. More stressful than we’re prepared for.
But the alternative—sitting in this same kitchen in five years, wondering what if—that’s a cost we can’t calculate and won’t pay.
I close the laptop and raise my glass. “To expensive lessons.”
“To learning them together,” she responds.
Outside, a car pulls into our driveway. Tom, stopping by to drop off a bottle of champagne with a note: “For when you need liquid courage. Or liquid celebration. Or just liquid.”
The numbers are terrifying. The risk is real. The path forward is unclear.
But the decision is made. Tomorrow, we start turning $347,500 into a business, $43,000 monthly into a sustainable operation, and a spreadsheet full of projections into a life we actually want to live.
The math says it’s possible. Barely, but possible.
Sometimes barely is enough.
See the guide Jack used: 37 Tips for Starting a Golf Simulator Business
You’ve just finished Chapter 3. In Chapter 4, Jack turns ideas into a clear plan in Writing the Business Plan.