At two minutes to 9 p.m. ET, a plural, piercing scream ran collectively through NYC's 310 Bowery Bar, ringing the ears and buzzing the folds of the brain. This was, but of course, a reaction the the DJ needle-dropping Scheana Shay's "Good As Gold."

A normal human being has never heard this song — and if they did, they'd rightly call it subpar pop schlock — but the bar was wall-to-wall with Bravo superfans, tuned in to Wednesday's third and final reunion episode for Vanderpump Rules, the reality show that took over the online world with the Scandoval saga. And we all love that dumb little ditty, because it's part of Pump lore.

If you're reading this story, you're likely caught up. But, just in case, the short summary of the Scandoval goes as follows: worm-with-a-mustache Tom Sandoval cheated on life partner Ariana Madix with her friend Raquel Leviss, who was previously engaged to Sandoval's pal DJ James Kennedy. Oh, and Shay may or may not have assaulted Leviss, resulting in a since-dropped lawsuit. All these people are cast members of Bravo's Vanderpump Rules, and this entire scandal played out as the most recent season aired.

OK, back to the bar. This whole event was born from a TikTok posted by Gillian Hodes. A few weeks back, the 32-year-old New Yorker wondered aloud, on the app, if people would want to go to a bar to watch the highly anticipated season finale of the show. Despite Hodes having just a few dozen followers at the time, the response was a resounding yes. The TikTok announcing the first party — I attended the fourth and final event — racked up more than 50,000 views and tons of comments from interested party-goers. It went from an inkling of an idea to a party that took over a bar four weeks in a row to first watch the finale, then each of the three reunion specials.

"I was thinking maybe if enough people wanted to go, I could just convince one of the bars that I frequent to change one of the TV channels," Hodes said in an interview this week. "Like we get 20 people, they would change a TV channel, and it would be great. That's really what I was kind of thinking at first. But that quickly changed."

The comments were riddled with positivity — imagine that — and folks saying they'd love to watch with fellow fans.

"I realized that this was a community that existed," Hodes said. "People who are passionate about this show ... that were just waiting to be united."

Hodes said the first event at Bowery Bar 310 sold out its 125-person capacity in about an hour. With that amount of interest, the bar invited them back for the reunions and tickets — which, for $30, guaranteed entry, a drink, and pizza — sold out each time.

Bravo has its own convention and hardcore fandom. It creates its own celebrities. It's not quite sports, though you do root for certain personalities, and it's not quite normal celebrities like musicians, though Bravolebrities do often try to make music. It's its own, passionate thing.

I would know. I am a huge Bravo fan, shepherded into this world years ago by my then-girlfriend, now wife. Below Deck, many versions of Housewives, Summer House, Vanderpump, I watch it all. I was curious, though, to see how a fandom typically relegated to the couch traveled to a real-life bar and party. Which is how I ended up at 310 Bowery, sitting at the bar with my wife amid 125 people screaming Scheana Shay's unforgettable, but also immensely forgettable, pop banger.

The bar was wall-to-wall. Chilled bottles of Vanderpump Rosé shuttled out at warp speed. Pumptinis, the pink drink made famous at the restaurant where the cast members once worked, were passed end-to-end. Big trays of pizza floated around. The crowd was at least 90 percent women, and most everyone was wearing either black (Sandoval's funeral) or red dresses (an homage to Madix's revenge dress).

The show started at 9 p.m., and we got to the bar at around 7:30. It was already far too packed for a random Wednesday evening in an NYC under apocalyptic skies. My wife and I grabbed the final two seats at the bar, adjacent to the main room with high-tops and booths for larger groups. The DJ played break-up jams and throwback reality-related songs like Hills theme "Come Clean." People danced and sang. It was a party in every sense. By 8:30 p.m. it was sardine-packed. Hodes and a fellow host did some Pump-themed trivia to award "It's all happening" temporary tattoos, yet another Shay reference.

Sample trivia: former tertiary cast member Laura-Leigh had a tattoo reading what in her bit part in the movie We Are the Millers? Answer: Boner Garage. Not to brag, but I knew that one.

It's all happening. Credit: Mashable

Cut back to 8:58 p.m., the "Good As Gold" needle-drop, and piercing scream. Then the Vanderpump Rules theme started to roll and, in the sweetest, most sincere voice, someone behind us whispered, "I have chills." The vibe was fantastic. People hushed as the cast members talked throughout the final part of the reunion. Then they'd boo and jeer at pretty much anything Sandoval and Leviss said. Loudly. Like as if Sandoval would feel the vibration through the screen. It felt like a mash-up of an online fandom meet-up, a huge sports game, and a bachelorette party. Bravo fans have been calling this whole Scandoval mess their Super Bowl. It made sense once taken into real life.

"Not only is it the Super Bowl, if you will, it's the Super Bowl and everybody is rooting for the same team," Hodes said.

She added, "This online community in my comments ... they actually were just as positive and nice in real life."

There isn't much to add about how the actual viewing of the reunion went. Everyone yelled at the bad team, cheered for the good guys, and gasped at the revelations. I thought tomatoes might actually fly at TV screens when Sandoval sheepishly claimed he loved Leviss. We laughed at some of the dumber comments and danced and sung in the commercial breaks.

There was a real sense of camaraderie — it was so cool to see this thing usually reserved for an at-home or message-board experience taking place IRL. And literally no one else was allowed. Hodes noted to me that there were lots of repeat attendees for all four events. You could feel it. At one point, Hodes saw my wife's wine glass was empty and took it upon herself to refill from her own bottle of Vanderpump Rosé, a not uncommon courtesy as folks bonded throughout the night. It was sloshy fun. At about 9:45 p.m. I wrote in my notes and said out loud, "I don't think I've ever seen this much rosé sold at one time."

Vanderpump Rosé, in all its glory. Honestly, it's not bad. Credit: Mashable

Hodes told me she requested the rosé, which is made by the show's matriarch Lisa Vanderpump, and the bar bought enough for (it thought) all four events. That is no small miracle, since it's next to impossible to find Vanderpump Rosé in NYC. It wasn't enough, Hodes said. The bar had to go back and buy more cases and, once again, they sold out on Wednesday. Like I said, a sloshing good time.

If you're a Scandoval watcher, then you know this thing has played out as much online as it has on TV. Sleuths have dug through all the indelicate details and uncovered clues — like matching lightning bolt necklaces amid the affairees — that became talking points on the show itself. Raquel was still trending on Twitter midday Thursday, long after the final part of the reunion had aired. That kind of passion is why what started as an offhand TikTok from Hodes birthed a series of parties that overtook a sports bar during the freaking NBA Finals.

"It was definitely scary," Hodes said. "I [was] brand new to TikTok. I didn't have like, a strategy."

The so-called worm with a mustache. Credit: Mashable

But she soon found out that the Scandoval was the perfect time to get Bravo fanatics together IRL. Think about it: This scandal played out live for us, just as the season aired. It was like watching live sports because it was, in some ways, playing out in real time instead of with the usual months-long delay. Anything could happen, so why not experience that feeling as if it were the actual Super Bowl, live at a bar?

The novelty of the situation is part of why the Scandoval took over the online world — appearing in the tony pages of the New York Times, no less — and it must be part of why the turnout was so wild for a live event. It's fun to speculate about the affair's inner workings; it's even better to do it with a bunch of new friends in a packed bar. It's why I found myself, head buzzing from Vanderpump Rosé, funneling my body into an overpriced Uber to get home at 10:30 p.m. on a Wednesday, surge-priced to high-heaven because the sky looked like hell.

"We're rooting for Ariana, and we're all doing it together," Hodes had said on our phone call before the event, explaining the atmosphere of the parties. "So I think that also kind of helps break people out of their living rooms. People wanted to cheer, wanted to be really emotional about it."

And I have to say, we had a great time doing just that. At one point, I gave up on taking notes of what people around me said. It was too damn loud. My wife sat next to me, cheering and beaming, in a bar full of people doing the same — enjoying this online thing brought to life with a physical location, some big screens, and rosé. Lots and lots of rosé.