‘Fuel Pass’, real struggles: A biker’s experience at the pump

Yesterday evening, I went out to do something that used to take ten minutes and a bit of small talk -- refuel my bike. Given the ongoing fuel crisis and the long queues, I was in for a three-hour wait. Armed with a QR code of the fuel pass, I had thought it would be somewhat better. But not quite.

Let’s start with the “solution.” The government recently launched a pilot "Fuel Pass" system for bikers -- meant to streamline refueling and monitor distribution. On paper, it sounds like a smart move. In reality? The system went down barely a day after launch and stayed offline, leaving most riders locked out.

Somehow, I got lucky. Thanks to a colleague, I managed to register on day one. At the time, it felt like winning a golden ticket. The pass promised “benefits,” though it only worked at two specific filling stations. I say “benefits” cautiously -- because what followed made me question whether I actually had any.

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Fuel Pass app launched for 2 Dhaka pumps

The build-up

I had last filled my tank the day after Eid-ul-Fitr, giving me a decent 350–400 km runway. But as my fuel gauge dipped to half, anxiety kicked in. Like many others, I turned to Facebook groups -- our unofficial national dashboard for fuel updates.

Yesterday morning, I saw a promising post: one of the designated fuel pass stations was offering a separate, shorter queue for pass holders, with up to 10 litres per bike. That sounded like efficiency. That sounded like hope. As the saying goes, a sinking man will clutch at straws, so clutch I did.

After work, around 7:00pm, I double-checked the updates. Still good. So I geared up and headed out around 7:15.

Enter the queue

Now, I’ve been to this pump before. I know its quirks. So instead of joining from the front, I took a side route to reach the tail end quickly.

Big mistake -- or maybe just inevitable.

By 7:30 pm, the queue was… enormous. Not long. Not huge. Enormous. It stretched like one of those endless snake games -- except this time, I was inside the screen.

At first glance, it looked like a single line. Confused, I asked someone mid-queue:

“Brother, is this the general line or the fuel pass line?”

He stared at me like I’d just asked him the meaning of life.

I tried the next person. Same question. He just said, “Go up ahead and check.”

That was my first clue -- people weren’t exactly thrilled about the fuel pass situation.

So I started inching forward, scanning faces, hoping for clarity. Finally, someone confirmed: this was the general line; the pass queue was further ahead.

I must’ve crossed over a hundred bikes before I found it -- running parallel to the general queue.

Reality Check

First thing I did? Verify. I asked the last guy in the pass line if QR codes were being checked. He said yes.

Relieved, I settled in.

Out of curiosity, I asked someone in the general queue beside me when he joined.

“3:00pm,” he said.

I checked my watch. It was nearly 8:00pm.

Five hours. And he still had over 200 bikes ahead of him.

That’s when it hit me. This is actually a test of endurance.

The slow crawl

Movement was painfully slow. Every 5–10 minutes, we’d advance maybe three bike lengths. Enough to feel progress, not enough to feel hopeful.

Naturally, people started talking. Small clusters formed every few yards -- temporary communities bound by shared frustration.

One rider next to me was a ride-sharing driver. He said he had to refill every 3–4 days, but was limited to just Tk 500 worth of fuel each time. The guy in front of him nodded.

Then there was an older man -- white hair, probably in his late 50s. He spoke calmly but firmly: “We’ve been dealing with this for days. They [govt] say there’s no crisis, that supply is enough. But look at us -- standing here for hours, not even sure we’ll get fuel.”

No one argued.

Enter the “fuel pass expert”

About an hour in, the crowd shifted and I found myself in a new group. That’s when I met what I’d call the “fuel pass expert.”

He enthusiastically explained how easy it was to register -- back when the server worked. He encouraged everyone to sign up once it came back online.

His logic was simple and surprisingly convincing: “There’s no cost. Even if it saves you one hour, why not?”

People listened. Many were eager -- but also stuck, waiting for the system to come back.

I even found myself giving advice: “Try after midnight. Servers sometimes come back when fewer people are online.” Weekend optimism, I guess.

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Tension and tiny drama

As we got closer to the pump, anxiety grew. What if they ran out of fuel? What if supply didn’t arrive? What if all this waiting was for nothing?

Then came some live entertainment.

Two riders tried to sneak into the queue by creating a gap with their friends already inside. Classic move. Unfortunately for them, this wasn’t the day for shortcuts.

The crowd reacted immediately. Polite but firm protests turned them away. They left quickly -- faces tense, plans foiled.

Small victory for fairness.

The plot twist

Around 9:45 pm, near the front, the truth revealed itself.

Fuel pass holders were… getting the same Tk 500 limit as everyone else.

No 10 liters. No priority benefit. Why?

Because the QR code scanning team had left after 8:00pm. No scanner, no verification -- no special treatment.

The “pass” had effectively become a souvenir.

Final stretch

When I finally reached the dispenser, I greeted the attendant. He ignored me.

To be fair, he looked exhausted -- and annoyed. Still, basic courtesy shouldn’t be optional.

I politely said, “We’re paying for this. We’ve waited in line. We’re not asking for a favour.”

Another rider backed me up, adding that doing the job properly isn’t a bonus -- it’s the baseline.

No response. Just fuel.

Last hurdle

I thought I was done. Then came payment.

I had seen posts saying this station accepts cards. Visa signs were everywhere. So I pulled out my card.

“Cash only,” he snapped.

I pointed at the signs. “You accept cards.”

“Not for bikes.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Out of disbelief, more than humour.

So I parked, walked into the office, and calmly asked them to show me a sign stating that policy. No answer. They just took my card, processed the Tk 500 payment, and told me to leave. Which I did.

The fuel pass system might have potential -- but right now, it feels like a half-baked idea dropped into a full-blown crisis.

Still, if there’s one takeaway -- it’s this: people will find ways to cope, connect, and even laugh, no matter how long the line gets.

As for the car queue and refueling process -- stay tuned. I’ll be refilling my car soon.