Us Bank Monster Jam Bag Policy

So, you’ve scored tickets to US Bank Monster Jam. Congratulations! You’re about to witness giant trucks doing backflips over school buses. But before you pack your fanny pack full of snacks and dreams, let’s talk about the bag policy.

Because, my friend, the bag policy is the real monster. It’s sneakier than a crush car hiding behind a ramp. Ignore it, and you’ll be forced to either toss your beloved purse into a dumpster or walk back to your car with zero dignity.

First, the golden rule: clear bags only. Yes, you read that correctly. Your bag must be made of that crinkly, see-through plastic that makes everyone look like they’re smuggling contraband cheese puffs. The stadium wants to see your nachos before you do.

What counts as “clear”? Think of a Ziploc bag, but bigger. Most venues allow a single clear plastic bag up to 12” x 6” x 12”. That’s roughly the size of a large textbook, if the textbook ate too many fiber supplements. Don’t bring a grocery bag—they’re too flimsy and smell like forgotten carrots.

Here’s where it gets weird: you can also bring a small clutch. A tiny, non-clear purse that fits in your hand, like the size of a wallet that’s given up on life. Maximum 4.5” x 6.5”. Basically, if your clutch can hold a phone and one sad granola bar, you’re golden. Anything larger, and security will treat you like you’re smuggling Gravedigger’s tires.

Now, let’s talk about what you cannot bring, in the style of a revenge list from an angry truck: No backpacks. No duffel bags. No coolers. No camera bags that look too professional (sorry, wannabe paparazzi). And absolutely no outside food or drink—unless you’re hiding a Capri Sun in your bra, and even then, that’s a gray area they will aggressively pat down.

News | U.S. Bank Stadium

One surprising fact: Monster Jam bags aren’t always monster-sized. Despite the trucks being eighteen feet tall, your bag must be tiny. Irony, right? You’d think a show about crushing things would encourage you to crush your own massive purse under your seat. Nope. They want you humble.

Here’s the part that slaps you in the face: strollers are allowed. Yes, you can roll a full-size stroller in, but you can’t bring a regular backpack. Explain that logic to the toddler who just spilled juice on your new clear tote. “The stroller is fine, honey, but Mommy’s frail dignity is not.”

What about diaper bags? If you’ve got a baby in tow, you get a medical exemption. But it must be a clear diaper bag or a small, non-clear bag for baby supplies only. Security will ask, “Is that a diaper or a Monster Jam t-shirt?” Have an answer ready that doesn’t involve screaming.

Family bonding at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis ,watching Monster Jam

Pro tip: wear cargo pants. Seriously. The official US Bank Monster Jam bag policy practically encourages you to become a walking pocket. Fill your pockets with everything: phone, wallet, earplugs (you’ll need them), and a tiny flashlight to find your seat after the pyrotechnics blind you. You’ll look like a tourist on a hike, but you’ll win.

Also, brace yourself: no selfie sticks. I know, I know—you wanted a selfie with a truck mid-air. But apparently, impaling your neighbor’s face with a metal rod isn’t “family-friendly.” The policy bans anything that turns you into a weapon, which includes drones, laser pointers, and that giant foam finger with a built-in bottle opener.

One more shocker: you can bring a seat cushion. You may not need it, because Monster Jam seating is basically concrete decorated with stadium logos. But yes, you can bring a clear cushion or a small non-clear one. Just don’t bring a cushion shaped like a monster truck—security will laugh at you, but they’ll let it through. Limp, powerless ruin.

Minneapolis: February 17, 2024 | U.S. Bank Stadium | Monster Jam - YouTube

Finally, the bag check process is a circus. Lines snake around like a crushed car. Security will ask you to open your clear bag, then stare into it like they’re reading your soul. If they find a forbidden snack, they’ll confiscate it with the same sad look a frog gives when you kiss it. My advice: eat your smuggled food in the parking lot. Let no Dorito go undevoured.

Here’s the good news: this policy is for your safety. I know, I know—it’s annoying, like having a parent yell “slow down” during a circus stunt. But when a 12,000-pound truck lands on its roof three inches from your face, you’ll be glad you weren’t swinging a hockey bag. You’ll be too busy screaming “WHOOOAA!” to care about your purse.

So, pack smart. Use a clear bag that looks like a sad fish tank. Wear jeans with pockets deep enough to hide your hopes. And remember: no one has ever been turned away for being too prepared. Unless you bring a suitcase. Then they will shame you. Trust me.

Now go. Watch trucks fly. Eat overpriced nachos. And for the love of all that is muddy, leave your fanny pack at home. Unless it’s clear. Then, by all means, rock it like a champion.