Seven things, for every event, in writing: the address with the gate code, the party window and target arrival, the site notes, the client's name and the on-site contact's cell, the package and add-ons, the payment status, and who to call when something's weird. If any of it lives only in your head, the crew doesn't have it, and every gap becomes a phone call to you at the worst possible moment.
The seven things
1. Address, parking, and access. The full address, where the truck goes, the gate code, and the path to the yard. "Gate code 4471, park in the driveway, side gate left of the garage" is a crew that walks in. An address alone is a crew calling you from the curb.
2. The window and the target arrival. Party 2:00 to 3:00, crew on site 1:15. Stated as times, not vibes, because "get there with plenty of time" means something different to every human who has ever driven a truck.
3. Site notes from the booking. The spigot is around back, the outlet is dead so it's a generator job, there's a dog named Biscuit who'll be inside, the yard slopes toward the garden. Everything the booking questions surfaced, delivered to the people who need it, which was the entire point of asking.
4. Names. The client's name, the birthday kid's name, and the on-site contact if it's a different person. "Hi, you must be Sarah, and where's the birthday girl?" is thirty seconds of prep that parents describe as magic. Crews meet strangers; good crews meet Maya's mom.
5. Package and add-ons. Exactly what was sold: the hour, the glow add-on, the extra thirty minutes. The crew delivering a package they can't see delivers the default, and the client paid for more than the default. Add-on misses are refund conversations that a run sheet line prevents.
6. Payment status. Paid in full, or balance due on arrival and how much. A crew that doesn't know is a crew that either awkwardly asks a paid-up client for money or waves through an unpaid one. Both cost you, one in trust, one in cash.
7. Escalation. Who decides what: the lead handles the site, and the number to call for everything past that. One number, stated, so "something's weird" has a route instead of a debate.
Written, on their phone, before the day
The briefing is a document, not a conversation. Spoken briefings evaporate on contact with Saturday: the 8am huddle covers party one and by party three everyone's working from memory. The run sheet on each crew member's phone survives the whole day, survives the crew swap when someone leaves after party two, and answers questions at 3pm that were asked at 8am.
The habit that makes it stick: the crew checks the sheet at the truck before rolling to each stop, thirty seconds, same as checking a map. New crew learn it on day one and it stops being a policy and becomes how the job works.
What this actually buys you
Every item on the sheet is a call you don't get. Operators running their first big weekends describe the same phone: gate codes, "which house is it," "did they pay," "do they get glow." None of those are emergencies, all of them interrupt whatever real problem you were solving, and together they're why running two parties from home feels harder than working one in person. The sheet is how the day gets quiet.
The line to remember
Your crew can only be as professional as the information you hand them. The magic crew that never calls with questions was handed a sheet with no gaps.