Reno Event Center Bag Policy

So, you’re headed to the Reno Event Center. You’ve got your tickets, your friends, and a vibe that screams “let’s get weird.” But before you walk through those doors, you need to have a serious chat with your backpack. Because the bag policy at this venue is less of a suggestion and more of a security interrogation for your personal belongings.

Think of the bag policy like a clingy ex. It wants to know exactly what you’re bringing, and it will absolutely reject anything that doesn’t fit its tiny, miserable standards. The main rule? Small bags only. We’re talking clutches, wristlets, and fanny packs that look like they’ve been on a diet. Anything larger than 12” x 6” x 12” is basically a suitcase, and the security guard will treat it like you’re smuggling a live raccoon.

If you show up with a giant tote bag, you’re going to have a very expensive problem. They don’t store stuff. There’s no magical coat check for your Jansport full of snacks and regrets. You’ll be forced to either trash it, hand it to a stranger, or walk back to your car like a defeated pilgrim. Trust me, I’ve seen a grown man cry over a lost trail mix.

Now, what about backpacks? The official line is usually a hard “no.” Yes, even that cute mini one you bought for a hiking trip that never happened. Security sees a backpack and immediately assumes you’re plotting to build a fort in the middle of the concession stand. They’re not wrong, but they’re also not letting it in.

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Here’s the first shocking twist: clear bags are your friend. If you want to walk through security faster than a celebrity with a VIP pass, get a clear plastic bag. They love those. It’s like showing your underwear to the TSA—awkward, but efficient. You’ll be through the line while the guy with the canvas messenger bag is still arguing about his “emotional support water bottle.”

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Second surprise: diaper bags get special treatment. If you have a baby, you can bring in a larger bag that would otherwise be banned. This is the venue’s way of saying, “We hate inconvenience, but we love babies more than your freedom to carry Chapstick.” If you don’t have a kid, sorry—you’re stuck with the fanny pack.

Also, medical bags are exempt. So if you need an EpiPen or an insulin pump, you’re golden. They won’t give you trouble for that. But if you try to pass off a cooler full of sandwiches as a “medical device for my extreme hunger,” you’ll get laughed out of the lobby. It’s happened.

What You Can Actually Bring (Besides Your Dignity)

You can bring a phone, keys, wallet, and a small camera that isn’t a drone. No video cameras with detachable lenses—they think you’re filming a documentary about their security gaps. You can bring an empty reusable water bottle, because they want you to stay hydrated but also want to sell you $7 sodas. It’s a beautiful hypocrisy.

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You are not allowed to bring in selfie sticks. The venue considers them weapons. Apparently, someone once used one to poke a performer, and now we all suffer. Also banned: laser pointers, glow sticks, and any bag that looks like it might contain a rogue ferret. Yes, ferrets are suspicious by default.

Let’s talk about the biggest shock: signs are forbidden. You can’t bring a sign on a stick, no matter how witty your joke is. They claim it blocks the view. I claim it’s because they’re scared of your creativity. Write your message on your forehead if you have to. That’s technically a hat, not a sign.

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How to Win at the Bag Policy Game

First, ditch the backpack. Accept your new life as a crossbody-bag person. Second, empty your pockets of anything pointy. Keys are fine, but knitting needles are not. You are not going to knit a scarf during the show, and the venue knows it. Third, bring cash if you want to buy merch, because sometimes the card readers die, leaving you to barter with a t-shirt vendor using only hope.

If you’re still confused, just show up with nothing but your ticket and a credit card. Walk in like you own the place, hands free, soul pure. You’ll breeze through security while the lady behind you is frantically trying to hide her purse in her pants. Be that person. Be the minimalist hero Reno Event Center didn’t know they needed.

And remember: the bag policy isn’t there to ruin your night. It’s there to make sure no one tries to smuggle in a chainsaw or a gummy bear the size of a microwave. So pack light, laugh at the absurdity, and for the love of all that is holy, leave the live raccoon at home.