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.
What Happens When Nobody Shows Up?
Two o’clock Friday afternoon, and I’m standing in bay one with a driver in my hand, demonstrating the perfect stance to absolutely no one. The soft opening started thirty minutes ago. We’ve had exactly three visitors: my wife, Tom (who’s already drunk), and Margaret’s husband who’s asleep on the couch.
“Give it time,” Jerry says, but I catch him checking his phone repeatedly. We sent 200 invitations. Posted on every social platform. Even put a banner outside promising “Free Golf Today 2-6 PM.”
By 2:45, I’m calculating how quickly we can sell the equipment to minimize losses when the door opens. A family of four peers in hesitantly—mom, dad, two teenagers glued to their phones.
“Is this the free golf thing?” the dad asks.
“Absolutely. Come in. Let me show you around.”
They’re followed by another couple, then three guys in golf shirts, then suddenly—miraculously—we have a crowd. Not packed, but respectable. All four bays occupied. Laughter from the bar. Kids arguing about who’s actually winning.
Tyler whispers, “I may have posted in the high school Discord that we have free food and games.”
Whatever works.
The Soft Opening Lessons
By 6 PM, we’ve cycled through forty-seven people. Not the 200 invited, but enough to stress-test everything. And everything that can go wrong does.
The POS system crashes when two people try to buy drinks simultaneously. David fixes it in twelve minutes that feels like twelve hours. Bay three’s projector overheats and shuts down—plugged air vent, forgot to remove the plastic protector. The beer tap explodes, covering Tammy in foam. She handles it like a professional, turning disaster into entertainment.
But we also discover what works. Jennifer gives an impromptu lesson to a ten-year-old that draws a crowd. The birthday party in bay one naturally expands into bay two, showing us how groups actually behave. The acoustic panels work perfectly—four different groups playing without interference.
Margaret takes notes on everything: “Bathroom runs out of towels. Need hooks for purses. Music too loud for afternoon crowd. Coffee might sell well.”
Tom, now thoroughly drunk but surprisingly insightful, announces: “You need a signature drink. Call it the Hole-in-Wine. Get it?”
We don’t serve wine yet, but I write it down anyway.
Grand Opening Reality
Saturday’s grand opening is scheduled for 10 AM. I arrive at 7 AM to find Jerry already there, testing every simulator one more time.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” I ask.
“Dreamed the screens fell down during the mayor’s speech.”
The mayor isn’t coming, but the anxiety is real. We’ve spent $372,000 to reach this moment. The business needs to average about $1,450 daily just to break even—roughly thirty customers at $50 each, every single day (or about twenty-six hours of bay time at $56/hour).
The parking lot starts filling at 9:45. Real customers, not friends being polite. By 10:15, all four bays are booked. The wait list starts. Tammy manages the bar alone until Margaret arrives unscheduled: “Looked busy. Thought you needed help.”
The first real test comes at noon. A corporate group of twelve wants to play, but we only have four bays. Jerry quickly reorganizes, rotating teams between playing and eating, creating a tournament format on the fly. They love it. Book their next quarterly meeting before leaving.
By closing, we’ve served 147 customers, generated $4,200 in revenue, and gained valuable experience in running a golf simulator business.
“Not bad for day one,” Jerry says, collapsing into a chair.
“Day two of 2,555 until the loan’s paid off,” I respond.
“Way to keep it light, boss.”
Week One Chaos
Monday brings our first real corporate event—a pharmaceutical sales team of twenty. They’ve paid $1,500 for three hours, exclusive use of two bays, food and drinks included. Pure profit if we execute well.
We don’t.
The food order is wrong—vegetarian options forgotten. Bay two’s computer crashes, requiring a full restart. One sales rep gets aggressively drunk and has to be carefully managed. Their boss wants to extend another hour but we have reservations coming.
Jennifer saves us. She organizes a putting contest in the space between bays, turning dead time into engagement. The drunk guy becomes comedy relief rather than liability. We comp some drinks for the inconvenience. They still tip $200 and book next month.
“Every event is a learning experience,” I tell the team during our debrief.
“Learn faster,” Tammy suggests. “My feet are killing me.”
Tuesday through Thursday blur together. League play launches Thursday night with eight teams—half our target but enough to create energy. Two couples argue about rules. A regular from the bar next door becomes our unofficial DJ. Someone holes out from 180 yards and buys a round for everyone.
By week’s end, we’ve served 400 customers and generated $12,000. Sounds impressive until Ellen reminds me that’s $30,000 annualized monthly—well below our $42,000 operating cost.
“It’s week one,” she says gently. “Marathon, not sprint.”
The First Month Numbers
I become obsessed with daily metrics. Customer count, average spend, bay utilization, peak hours, dead zones. The patterns emerge quickly:
- Mornings are dead except for Margaret’s senior group
- Lunch brings corporate walk-ins
- After-school hours are surprisingly busy
- Evenings depend entirely on leagues and events
- Weekends are chaos from open to close
Our first month results:
- Revenue: $67,000 (target was $75,000)
- Customers served: 1,340
- Bay utilization: 37% (target 45%)
- Average spend: $50 (target $52)
- Member signups: 12 (target 25)
“We’re bleeding money,” I tell my wife over our monthly financial review.
“Less than expected,” she counters. “And trending upward.”
She’s right, but upward isn’t fast enough. At this rate, we’ll burn through our cash cushion in four months.
The Adjustments Begin
Month two brings aggressive changes. Jerry launches “Sunrise Special”—$25/hour before noon. Jennifer adds beginner clinics Wednesday evenings. Tammy creates a happy hour menu that actually drives traffic. Tyler starts a junior league that fills Saturday mornings.
I resist the urge to panic-discount everything. Mike from Cleveland calls weekly: “Revenue is vanity, profit is sanity, cash is reality.”
We discover unexpected revenue streams. A local golf shop pays us to demo their clubs. Three companies book monthly team meetings. The high school golf team practices here twice weekly. A dating app company wants to host a singles tournament.
But we also face unexpected costs. A drunk customer damages bay three’s screen—$2,000 replacement. The city decides we need additional parking lot lighting—$5,000. Our insurance company requires additional liability coverage for lessons—$200 monthly.
The KPI Dashboard
David creates a dashboard I check obsessively:
Daily Metrics:
- Revenue vs. target (usually behind)
- Hourly bay utilization (peaks and valleys)
- Customer acquisition cost (too high)
- Average transaction value (slowly climbing)
- Staff efficiency (Tyler improving, Tammy excellent)
Weekly Metrics:
- League retention (92%—our bright spot)
- Member engagement (low)
- Event bookings (growing)
- Social media engagement (Jerry killing it)
- Equipment downtime (minimal so far)
Monthly Metrics:
- Burn rate (terrifying)
- Customer lifetime value (unknown—too early)
- Marketing ROI (Facebook wins, newspapers lose)
- Competitor analysis (TopGolf announced expansion)
The numbers tell a story: we’re building something real, but slowly. Too slowly for comfort, fast enough for hope.
Month Three Breakthrough
The transformation happens gradually, then suddenly. Our Google reviews hit critical mass—47 reviews, 4.8 average. The algorithm starts favoring us. “Golf simulator near me” searches lead to us first.
March Madness provides unexpected boost. People want somewhere to watch games and do something. We create “Putt & Watch” packages. The combination works—full bays, busy bar, energy that makes people stay longer.
Word of mouth accelerates. The pharmaceutical reps tell other companies. League players bring friends. Margaret’s senior group becomes our informal marketing department. Jennifer’s students improve visibly, creating success stories.
Then corporate discovers us properly. A Fortune 500 company books their regional meeting. Sixty people, full buyout, $5,000. They want quarterly events. Suddenly we’re a venue, not just a golf facility.
Month three revenue: $94,000. Still below break-even, but the trajectory is undeniable.
The Mentor Network
Mike from Cleveland becomes my unofficial board of directors. Weekly calls where I dump problems and he provides perspective:
“Stop checking daily revenue—you’ll go insane.” “Focus on repeat customers, not new acquisition.” “Raise prices 10%—you’re too cheap.” “Add merchandise—margins are better.”
I join several operator communities and industry groups/forums for simulator facilities. Their discussion boards become my late-night reading, their webinars my business education, and their success stories my motivation.
Ellen introduces me to another client who owns a bowling alley. Different business, same challenges. We meet monthly, comparing notes on leagues, events, and managing drunk customers.
The small business association hosts monthly roundtables. I learn about tax credits I didn’t know existed, marketing strategies that actually work, and the universal truth that everyone’s first year is horrible.
The Six-Month Pivot
June brings our first profitable month: $97,000 revenue against $89,000 expenses (we cut where possible). The celebration is muted—one month doesn’t make a trend—but the relief is real.
We’ve learned what works:
- Leagues drive consistent revenue
- Corporate events provide margin
- Lessons build long-term relationships
- The bar matters more than expected
- Families spend more than singles
And what doesn’t:
- Traditional advertising (newspaper, radio)
- Groupon-style discounts (attracts wrong crowd)
- Complicated membership tiers
- Late-night hours (except Fridays)
- Tournament play (too complex for most)
We double down on winners, eliminate losers. The business simplifies, clarifies, strengthens.
The Rhythm Develops
By month eight, we have a rhythm. Monday staff meeting, reviewing previous week and planning ahead. Tuesday maintenance—cleaning, calibrating, fixing. Wednesday beginner night. Thursday leagues. Friday date nights and corporate events. Saturday chaos. Sunday family day.
The team finds its groove. Tyler becomes our technical expert, teaching customers about launch angles and spin rates. Tammy runs the bar like her personal kingdom. Margaret basically manages daytime operations. Jennifer builds a teaching practice with thirty regular students.
Jerry and I develop a partnership. He handles operations, I handle strategy. He manages staff, I manage vendors. He’s the face, I’m the books. It works.
“You know we’re going to make it, right?” he says one Thursday, watching four full bays and a waiting list.
“Define ‘make it,'” I respond.
“Survive year one. Pay ourselves year two. Expand year three.”
It seems possible now. Not guaranteed, but possible.
The Year-End Reality
December 31st, I close the books on our first year. The numbers are sobering but not devastating:
- Total revenue: $896,000
- Total expenses: $849,000
- Net profit (pre-debt service): $47,000
- Debt serviced (SBA, 11%, 7-year): $49,300
- Actual profit: roughly breakeven (about –$2,300 before taxes)
We’ve essentially worked for free, but we’ve survived. The business exists, customers return, the team remains intact. Our reviews are strong, our reputation building, our community growing.
More importantly, the trajectory is clear:
- Month 1: $67,000
- Month 6: $78,000
- Month 12: $98,000
At this rate, year two will be genuinely profitable. Year three might actually justify the risk.
What Success Actually Looks Like
New Year’s Eve, we host a tournament. Forty-eight players, eight hours, champagne at midnight. I watch from behind the bar as Jerry runs the event, Jennifer gives impromptu lessons, Tyler explains the technology, Tammy serves drinks, Margaret organizes the chaos.
Tom wins the tournament, naturally. “I knew this would work,” he slurs during his victory speech. “Jack’s too stubborn to fail.”
Maybe that’s all entrepreneurship is—being too stubborn to fail when failure would be easier.
My wife finds me during the countdown, surrounded by customers who’ve become regulars, regulars who’ve become friends.
“Still worth it?” she asks.
I think about the $372,000 invested, the house at risk, the seven-day weeks, the constant stress. Then I look at what we’ve built—not just a business, but a community. Not just simulators, but a place where people choose to spend time.
“Ask me in year two,” I say.
But we both know the answer. The business might barely be profitable, but the life is infinitely richer. I’m not managing someone else’s dream anymore. I’m living my own.
Three Lessons Locked In
As year two begins, I write three lessons on the whiteboard in our office:
- Revenue follows reputation—build trust before transactions
- Systems enable growth—document everything that works
- People buy experiences—golf is just the excuse
Each lesson cost thousands to learn, will save thousands going forward.
The simulators hum in the background. League players argue about handicaps. Someone celebrates a virtual hole-in-one. Tammy announces last call. Margaret schedules tomorrow’s senior clinic.
This is what we built. Not perfect, barely profitable, but undeniably real.
The business survives its first year. We survive running it. The dream survives contact with reality.
Tomorrow brings new challenges—TopGolf’s expansion, minimum wage increases, technology upgrades needed. But tonight, we’re a successful small business. We made it through the gauntlet that kills most startups.
The sign outside still glows: “Westfield Indoor Golf.” But now it means something. A place people know, trust, enjoy. A business that exists not in imagination but in revenue, reviews, and relationships.
I lock the door at 2 AM, exhausted but energized. Year one is complete. Year two starts tomorrow. The foundation is solid. The model is proven. The team is tested.
We’re not just surviving anymore. We’re building.
The parking lot is empty except for my car. I sit for a moment, looking at what stubbornness and startup capital created. It’s not the empire I imagined. It’s better—it’s sustainable.
The loan has 2,190 days remaining. The business has infinite possibility ahead.
Both feel manageable now.
Time to go home, sleep for five hours, and do it all again tomorrow. But this time with the confidence that comes from surviving year one.
We launched a golf simulator business. More importantly, we launched a new life.
The scorecard shows we’re slightly above par. In golf and business, that’s good enough to continue playing.
Game on, year two.
See the guide Jack used: 37 Tips for Starting a Golf Simulator Business
You’ve reached the end of Jack’s startup story. But in many ways, it’s only the beginning. The lessons here show how any Golf Simulator Business can grow, adapt, and succeed with persistence and creativity.