Bash Compactor: The Party Bus Always Stops Here

| 13 Aug 2014 | 06:31

    I didn’t expect to be reunited with my inner Snooki this summer, but let’s face it: You never know what’s lurking around the corner.

    “Party! Party! Party!” we all shouted in unison like maniacs, drinking champagne out of plastic cups and dancing in our seats to the blaring house music. We were on a party bus called RedRush Express, hurtling toward Southampton. Organized by partythrowing hunk Zack Dugow, the private shuttle leaves Midtown at 10 and heads back into the city at 4 a.m. after a night of carousing at the club RdV East, sister to RDV in the Meatpacking District. Admission is $20, but at Dugow’s table, the booze is free.

    The summer was almost over, it’d been work, work, work and I hadn’t been to the beach once. I needed to get out of the city, even for one night, so I rounded up a few party monsters for a misadventure.

    On the bus were cheerful twentysomethings with day jobs, unlike most of my wastrel friends. The girls were all hot, with big hair and wearing skimpy little black dresses, outnumbering the boys in Saturday Night Fever garb. When we arrived, there was a tense moment when the door goons didn’t allow a few of the men in. They instead ran to the dive bar across the street.

    RdV East in a former lifetime was Tavern and more recently Playa. The place was jammed with upscale yuppies and a line of trashed babes cavorting on the bar. I later read on Twitter that I missed celebrity chef Todd English. Dammit, isn’t he single? Anyway, we hightailed it to the cozy outdoor courtyard where you could smoke and talk. But then we heard the mellow tones of a live band. Volare, oh oh, cantare, oh oh oh oh. The Gipsy Kings were playing in the flesh. “I’ve paid $95 to see them live,” one guy gushed. I figured it would be too crowded to get close, but it wasn’t. After the set, I clambered onto the stage with my friend Giusi to say hi. How could we resist some hugs and kisses with the masters of flamenco rhumba? I left a huge red lipstick smear on one of the Kings’ cheeks as a memento.

    On the ride back, we were zombies. I’d spent all the time away from the city I needed for the summer, and it only took six hours.