A 10-year-old’s vending pitch landed a $1,500 machine deal with a 26% split

A 10-year-old wanted a vending machine. His mom, Christina Nicolson, expected a fun side project. What she got was a real operating agreement with the village of Wellington, a $1,500 machine purchase, and the kind of profit math that hits like a cold splash.

Here’s the specific deal: in September 2024, Christina and Landon bought a vending machine for $1,500 and shipped it for $843. They also bought a credit card reader for $385, stocked inventory with $265 from Costco, and started with $17 in change. Their placement agreement with the village of Wellington required 26% of the commission to go to the village, and Christina says Landon and she split the profits 50/50. Even when Landon can’t yet “feel” the numbers in the way adults do, the contract forces him to run the business like it’s real, because it is.

How did a kid’s idea become a contract? Landon first got the concept over a year ago while helping at the concession stand during a Wellington Wolves tournament, at one of his sister’s basketball games. He started noticing how many people wanted snacks and drinks, and the “lightbulb” moment led to his initial plan: he wanted a candy store. Christina agreed, but suggested starting smaller. To learn the basics, they got a book and watched YouTube videos. Then they tackled the hardest early step: finding the right location.

Landon was taking acting lessons at their community center during the summer. Instead of asking passively, he went to the front desk and asked if they had a vending machine. Christina says the staff told him they used to, but did not have one anymore. Landon’s response was bluntly entrepreneurial: “Do you want one? That's my business.” They gave him the contact person, and Christina and Landon set up a meeting with the village of Wellington.

At that point, this stopped being a lemonade-stand vibe and became a basic small-business process. They put together a proposal covering what would go in the machine and how much they would sell items for. Christina says the village approved it and there was a contract. The agreement structure matters, because it bakes incentives and constraints into every dollar that moves: 26% of the commission goes to the village, and the rest is split between Landon and Christina 50/50 once the machine’s costs are covered.

The early finance reality was not glamorous. Christina says they are still “in the hole,” which is exactly what a lot of new operators experience, especially when they spend up front on equipment and inventory before sales stabilize. They stocked with $265 worth of items from Costco and put $17 in change into the machine to begin. That setup is a reminder that cashflow starts before profits exist, and “starting costs” are not a side note, they are the opening move. For Landon, the contract also created a specific learning moment.

Christina describes a tough lesson Landon absorbed quickly: just because you make money does not mean it is your money. She gives an example from the first time they went to get money from the machine. Landon was excited by the dollar bills. Christina told him they had to pay the machine off, and that 26% goes to the village of Wellington for letting them put the machine in the center, plus other business obligations. She says that was when he learned the difference between revenue and profit.

That revenue vs profit gap is an important second-order issue for any founder, even adults. Revenue is what you sell. Profit is what you keep after you account for what you owe, what it costs to operate, and what you need to reinvest. In Landon’s case, the 26% commission term is like a built-in tax on top-line movement. It turns the accounting lesson into an everyday reality: money in the tray is not the same as money in your pocket.

Operationally, the experience also tested motivation. At first, Landon liked checking the machine once a week for 15 minutes, tracking what needed filling and what people were buying. Christina says now he is less excited about checking as frequently. He still enjoys doing it, but the initial novelty has worn off. That pattern is common in real businesses: the first weeks can feel like exploration; later you’re managing maintenance, inventory choices, and consistency.

Christina says she has been patient, encouraging Landon to review the numbers monthly and she prints out the P&L for him to see. She also points out the deeper business-model lesson: different models take different amounts of time, and how busy a business gets determines how the work feels. Even when Landon asks if he’s making money yet, Christina frames it as a discipline issue: to make a business work, you have to work.

There’s also a cultural and confidence angle here that decision-makers should notice. Landon walked right up to the community center's front desk, asked if they wanted a vending machine, and came home with a business card. Christina says she loves that he isn’t afraid, and she believes the experience could help him start more businesses. That matters because the biggest early advantage in entrepreneurship is often not capital or clever strategy. It is persistence with real stakes, and the willingness to approach the next decision-point, even when the numbers are uncomfortable.

For executives and operators who mentor founders, the takeaway is simple: structured agreements and transparent splits can turn learning into measurable behavior. When a 26% commission term and a 50/50 profit split are written into a contract, accounting stops being abstract. It becomes the operating system. And when you force revenue, commission, inventory, and payout timing into one small, understandable loop, you create a training ground that is both practical and emotionally honest. That kind of “small business reality” is exactly what prepares the next generation of operators to handle the bigger deals coming their way.