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.
The Final Setup Before Opening a Golf Simulator Business
Why Does Everything Take Twice as Long as Promised?
The simulators were supposed to arrive Tuesday. It’s Thursday, and I’m standing in our half-finished space watching Paul’s crew install soundproofing while the bay frames sit empty.
The delivery truck broke down in Ohio. Or maybe Pennsylvania. The story changes every time I call.
“Welcome to construction,” Paul says, not looking up from his tablet where he’s juggling seventeen different delays. “Everything takes twice as long and costs thirty percent more than promised.”
He’s right, but knowing doesn’t make it easier. We’re four weeks from opening—the date we’ve already advertised, already sold party bookings for, already promised to the corporate groups that Jerry has been pre-selling—and our permits are filed and tracking on schedule.
If the full liquor license lags, the soft opening proceeds without alcohol and beer/wine activates under a temporary permit the following week.
The space is transforming, but it looks more like a disaster than a business. Exposed wiring waits for fixtures. The bar sits unfinished, missing its top and taps.
Boxes of furniture crowd the entrance. The only complete element is the ceiling—painted black to hide the ductwork, which somehow makes everything else look worse.
“Stop looking at individual pieces,” Paul advises. “Look at the flow.”
The Layout That Actually Works
I’ve drawn the layout forty different ways on graph paper, but standing in the actual space changes everything. The bay I thought would be perfect for lessons has a support column that interferes with left-handed swings.
The bar placement blocks the view from bay three. The seating areas feel cramped when you add actual furniture.
David, my tech consultant, arrives with his measuring tape and laptop. “We need to map sight lines,” he says. “Everyone should be able to see their screen without seeing others. Privacy but not isolation.”
We spend six hours with masking tape on the floor, mapping each bay’s footprint. Fifteen feet wide feels spacious until you add furniture—suddenly it’s tight. Twenty feet deep seemed excessive until David shows me the proper hitting distance for drivers.
“Most places cram bays to maximize count,” he explains. “Then wonder why customers complain about feeling crowded.”
We settle on four bays with genuine breathing room. Bay one, closest to the entrance, becomes the event space—slightly larger, with modular seating that can be reconfigured. Bay two and three are standard, positioned for league play.
Bay four, tucked in the corner with the most privacy, becomes the premium experience with upgraded furniture and our best launch monitor.
The bar runs along the west wall, visible from all bays but not intrusive. High-top tables create a transition zone between active play and lounging. The placement feels right—until the health inspector arrives.
“Kitchen access can’t cross customer traffic patterns,” she declares, clipboard in hand.
We redesign on the spot, creating a service corridor behind the bar. Paul’s crew groans—it means moving plumbing they just installed. Another three days, another $4,000.
The Technology Puzzle
The TruGolf simulators finally arrive on a Friday, naturally, when installation support is minimal. Five crates that look impossibly large for our suddenly small-feeling space.
David takes charge, having watched every installation video TruGolf ever produced. “The alignment is everything,” he mutters, unpacking laser levels and measuring tools I didn’t know existed.
Each bay requires:
- Impact screen tensioned perfectly (too loose and it wrinkles, too tight and it tears)
- Projector mounted at exact angles (off by two degrees and the image distorts)
- Launch monitor positioned precisely (millimeters matter for accuracy)
- Hitting mat aligned with screen center (obvious but often wrong)
- Computer hidden but accessible (customers will definitely try to “help”)
- Speakers positioned for immersion without bleeding into other bays
The first installation takes eight hours. We have it down to three hours by bay four, but my back may never recover from crawling under platforms adjusting cables.
The software setup proves equally complex. Each simulator needs its own license. The courses must be downloaded—all 97 of them, eating bandwidth I didn’t know we had. User profiles, difficulty settings, tournament modes, practice ranges.
David creates three different user experiences: beginner (simplified interface, easier courses), standard (full features, moderate difficulty), and premium (all features, championship conditions).
“The worst thing is overwhelming new users,” he explains, programming bay one’s family-friendly defaults.
The POS System Nobody Thinks About
Jerry insists we need more than just a cash register. “Every transaction tells a story,” he says, sounding like a business consultant. “We need to capture that data.”
The Square POS system seems simple until we start building our actual menu of services:
- Hourly bay rental (with different prices for different times)
- Half-hour rates for lessons
- Membership processing
- League fees
- Food and beverage
- Retail merchandise
- Gift cards
- Split payments for groups
- Deposits for events
Each requires its own button, modifier options, tax settings. Happy hour pricing needs time-based rules. Member discounts need to stack with certain promotions but not others. Gift cards need to work for golf but not alcohol.
Jennifer, our golf instructor, watches me program lesson packages. “Add series discounts,” she suggests. “Buy five lessons, get the sixth free. People commit when there’s value.”
The scheduling system integrates with the POS but requires its own setup. Bay availability, instructor schedules, event blocks, maintenance windows. We need rules—maximum booking duration, minimum advance notice, cancellation windows, no-show policies.
“Make it too restrictive and people get annoyed,” Jerry warns. “Too flexible and you’ll have chaos.”
We settle on two-hour maximum slots, one-hour minimum, bookable two weeks out, cancellable up to four hours prior. Simple enough to remember, flexible enough to work.
Building the Team
The hiring process reveals how differently people interpret “golf simulator facility.” Half the applicants think it’s a high-tech driving range. The other half imagine a sports bar with a golf theme. Neither is exactly wrong, but neither is right.
Jerry leads interviews while I observe. His first question: “Tell me about a time you dealt with a frustrated customer.” The answers separate those with real service experience from those who just need a job.
We hire Tammy, a bartender from the wine bar next door who’s looking for more hours. She knows the local crowd, understands the Westfield Commons customer, and can carry four drinks while explaining launch angle to beginners.
Tyler comes from the gym, where he’s been a personal trainer. Young, enthusiastic, knows nothing about golf but everything about making people feel comfortable trying something new. “I can teach the golf,” Jennifer says. “I need people who can teach people.”
Our fourth hire is unexpected. Margaret, sixty-seven, retired teacher, shows up to an interview I didn’t know we’d scheduled.
“Jerry told me to come,” she explains. “I’m in his wife’s book club.”
I’m about to politely decline when she continues: “I ran the after-school program at Westfield Elementary for thirty years. I know every family in town. And I play to a twelve handicap.”
She starts immediately on pre-opening training shifts, then moves into part-time hours running our weekday morning senior programs that I didn’t know we’d be offering.
The Standard Operating Procedures
My hotel experience kicks in as I write SOPs for everything. Not novels, just clear checklists that anyone can follow.
Opening Procedure:
- Disarm alarm (code in manager phone)
- Turn on all equipment (switch panel behind bar)
- Boot computers (one per bay plus main system)
- Check simulator alignment (test shot each bay)
- Set temperature to 72°F
- Turn on music (volume level 4)
- Check bathroom supplies
- Review reservation system
- Prep cash register
- Unlock front door at 10 AM sharp
Each procedure gets laminated and posted where it’s needed. The closing checklist lives by the exit. The spill cleanup guide hangs behind the bar. The equipment restart process stays at the front desk.
“You’re over-engineering this,” Tyler suggests.
Two weeks later, when he’s alone and the system crashes, he successfully restarts everything using the troubleshooting guide. “Never mind,” he says. “This is brilliant.”
The Brand Becomes Real
The logo on paper is one thing. The logo on a twenty-foot storefront is another. The sign company’s proof looks perfect until I realize it’ll be invisible at highway speeds.
“Bigger,” I tell them. “Thirty percent bigger.”
“That’ll cost—”
“Bigger.”
The interior branding is subtler. Logo etched on glassware. Branded scorecards. Staff shirts that look professional but not stiff. Wall graphics showing famous golf courses we simulate. A selfie wall with our logo and “I played 18 at Westfield Indoor Golf” that Jerry insists will be “social media gold.”
The website goes live after seventeen revisions. Simple, clean, mobile-friendly.
Book a bay, buy a gift card, join a league. The about page tells our story—local ownership, hospitality focus, year-round golf for everyone. The gallery shows real people having fun, not stock photos of models pretending to golf.
Our social media presence builds slowly. Jerry posts construction updates, equipment arrivals, staff introductions. “People want to see the journey,” he insists. Our followers grow from twelve (mostly family) to three hundred (mostly local) to eight hundred (word is spreading).
Customer Service Before Customers
Ellen helps design our refund policy. “Generous but not stupid,” she suggests.
Our Service Standards:
- Full refund for cancellations 4+ hours in advance
- Credit for late cancellations (once per customer)
- Replacement session for equipment failures
- Satisfaction guarantee on lessons
- Immediate refund for service issues
- Response to complaints within 24 hours
“That’s really generous,” Tammy observes.
“Reputation is everything,” I respond, remembering every hotel review that started with “They wouldn’t refund…”
We role-play scenarios. Tyler is the angry customer whose shot data seems wrong.
Margaret is the mom whose kid’s birthday party is running late. Tammy is the drunk guy who breaks something. Each scenario gets documented, solved, and added to our response guide.
Data and Security Reality
“You’re storing credit cards, personal information, and security footage,” David warns. “One breach and you’re done.”
We implement more security than seems necessary:
- Separate WiFi networks (public, operations, payment processing)
- Encrypted payment processing (never store card numbers)
- Password manager for all shared accounts
- Security cameras with 30-day retention
- Locked storage for customer data
- Daily backups of booking system
“Paranoid yet?” David asks after installing the fifth security layer.
“Getting there.”
The Final Checklist
Three days before soft opening, I stand in the middle of our transformed space with a clipboard, running through the final checklist:
Equipment:
☑ All simulators operational
☑ Launch monitors calibrated
☑ Backup projector in storage
☑ POS system programmed
☑ Scheduling system tested
Space:
☑ Construction complete
☑ Permits posted
☑ Signage installed
☑ Furniture positioned
☑ Lighting adjusted
Systems:
☑ Staff trained
☑ SOPs posted
☑ Insurance certificates on file
☑ Vendors confirmed
☑ Opening inventory stocked
Marketing:
☑ Website live
☑ Social media active
☑ Soft opening invites sent
☑ Grand opening advertised
☑ Corporate packages ready
Safety:
☑ Fire extinguishers placed
☑ Exit signs illuminated
☑ First aid kit stocked
☑ Emergency contacts posted
☑ Insurance card in wallet
Everything is checked except one item: “Ready to open.”
I can’t check it. Not yet. There’s still doubt, still fear that we’ve missed something crucial.
Jerry finds me staring at the list. “You know what’s missing?”
“Tell me.”
“Fun. We’ve built everything except the fun.”
He’s right. We’ve been so focused on systems and procedures that we haven’t actually played. That night, after the crew leaves, the staff stays. We open beers, power up the simulators, and play nine holes at Augusta.
Tyler, who’s never golfed, shoots 67 (the simulator is definitely too forgiving for beginners). Tammy hits a hole-in-one on number twelve and screams loud enough to alert security next door.
Margaret quietly shoots an 82 and suggests small adjustments to each bay’s setup.
I stand behind them, watching our business come alive. The sound fills the space—clubs striking balls, friends talking trash, music creating atmosphere.
The lights are warm but not harsh. The seating is comfortable but not sleep-inducing. The bar looks inviting. The technology works.
“Now are you ready?” Jerry asks.
I check the final box: ☑ Ready to open
The Night Before
Thursday night, twelve hours before soft opening, I walk through alone. Every light on, every simulator running, every detail examined. The space that was empty concrete twelve weeks ago is now a business. My business.
The investment is staggering—$372,000 and climbing. The risk is real—our house on the line. The work ahead is daunting—seven days a week for the foreseeable future.
But standing in bay four, driver in hand, looking at Pebble Beach’s seventh hole on the screen, I feel something I haven’t felt in twenty-eight years of hotel work: ownership.
Not of the space or the equipment, but of the outcome. Success or failure, it’s mine.
I take a swing. The ball launches perfectly, drawing slightly, landing softly on the green. The simulator celebrates with a subtle animation. In twelve hours, real customers will stand here, taking their own swings, creating their own moments.
My phone buzzes. Text from my wife: “Stop obsessing and come home. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She’s right. The details are dialed in. The systems are set. The team is trained. Tomorrow, we find out if anyone else cares about our indoor golf dream.
I power down the simulators, check the locks, and set the alarm. The motion sensors arm as I exit, protecting our investment, our future, our massive bet on golf and hospitality and the belief that people will pay for experiences that matter.
The sign glows in the darkness: “Westfield Indoor Golf.” Simple. Clear. Real.
Tomorrow at 2 PM, friends and family arrive for our soft opening. Saturday, the public gets access. Monday, our first corporate event. Thursday, league play begins.
But tonight, everything is potential. Every bay is perfect. Every system is ready. Every dream is intact.
The details are dialed in. Now we just need customers to care.
I sit in my car for one more moment, looking at what we’ve built. It doesn’t look like much from outside—just another storefront in a suburban shopping center. But inside, it’s a carefully crafted experience waiting to happen.
Twenty-eight years of managing other people’s properties taught me what matters: the details nobody notices until they’re wrong.
The flow that feels natural but is completely designed. The systems that prevent problems rather than solve them. The team that makes customers feel welcome rather than processed.
We’ve built all of that. Tomorrow, we find out if it’s enough.
See the guide Jack used: 37 Tips for Starting a Golf Simulator Business
You’ve just finished Chapter 6. Don’t miss Chapter 7, where Jack finally Launches, Learns, and Improves as the business comes to life.