Every morning in Costa Rica, tens of thousands of Uber drivers wake up, check their app, and begin a quiet calculation that many of their passengers never think about. Before they earn a single colón, the meter is already running against them. The company collecting the biggest share of what they generate is not filling their tank, maintaining their car, or paying their insurance.
Uber’s official line is that it charges a service fee of around 25 percent per trip. That is the number the company advertises and what most riders assume. But the reality facing drivers on the ground in Costa Rica is considerably worse.
Studies examining Uber’s actual take rate have found that when booking fees, operational charges, and algorithmic pricing are factored in, the company’s real cut regularly reaches 40 percent on average and climbs as high as 65 to 70 percent on individual trips. The gap between the fare a passenger pays and what lands in the driver’s account is far wider than Uber’s promotional materials suggest, and Costa Rican drivers experience this gap every single day.
The standard commission arrangement in Costa Rica’s broader transportation and service economy sits at 20 percent, a figure that reflects a more reasonable split between platform and provider. It acknowledges who owns the vehicle, who pays for the fuel, who assumes the physical risk, and who does the actual work. Uber does not operate at 20 percent. Not even close.
And the drivers absorbing the difference are not wealthy entrepreneurs supplementing a comfortable income. Research across Latin America confirms that most Uber drivers use the platform to meet essential household needs and are burdened by debt, making this work one of their primary financial lifelines.
Layer on top of that the cost of fuel. Gasoline in Costa Rica currently sits at approximately $1.25 per liter, which translates to roughly $4.70 per gallon, a price that would draw major complaints in the United States and is genuinely punishing for someone driving 10 to 12 hours a day in San José traffic.
A driver working a full shift in the capital will typically consume between 8 and 12 liters of fuel, depending on the vehicle and the stop and go nature of urban driving. That means between ₡5,000 and ₡8,000 in fuel costs every single day, paid entirely out of the driver’s own pocket. Uber contributes nothing toward it.
Then there is the vehicle itself. To operate on the platform in Costa Rica, drivers must present a car that is no more than 10 years old, in good mechanical condition, with four doors, air conditioning, and a clean, professional interior. Uber Comfort requires newer and more spacious vehicles, and premium tiers raise the bar further.
Maintaining a vehicle suitable for the platform in a country where spare parts are expensive and road conditions outside the capital are rough requires constant investment. Tires, oil changes, brake pads, and the general wear of high mileage urban driving all add up. Again, Uber does not share those costs.
The driver owns the depreciating asset. The driver pays to maintain it. The driver pays to insure it. Uber provides the app. Costa Rica’s Court of Labor Appeals has now confirmed that the relationship between Uber drivers and the company constitutes an employment relationship under the legal principle of subordination, because orders are given, decisions are made, and sanctions are applied to drivers through the platform.
That ruling is significant in its implications. It means Uber has been functioning as an employer, dictating conditions, setting prices, and disciplining workers, while absorbing none of the financial obligations that employment law requires. No social security contributions. No vacation pay. No sick leave. No severance.
Drivers who have been abruptly disconnected from the app without explanation are now exploring legal action, emboldened by the court’s recognition that their relationship with Uber is not simply that of an independent contractor and a neutral platform.
The arithmetic of a 12 hour Uber shift in Costa Rica is brutal when laid out plainly. A driver putting in a full day might gross somewhere between ₡40,000 and ₡70,000 in fares, depending on demand, location, and time of day. Uber’s effective take, accounting for service fees, booking fees, and algorithmic adjustments, strips away 35 to 45 percent of that immediately. Fuel for the day costs another ₡6,000 to ₡8,000. A proportional daily allocation for vehicle maintenance, tires, and depreciation adds several thousand colones more.
What remains, for 12 hours of work navigating San José’s traffic in a vehicle the driver owns and maintains, can easily fall below Costa Rica’s minimum wage for a job that carries no benefits, no protections, and no guarantee of tomorrow.
Costa Rica has more than 20,000 Uber drivers and roughly 800,000 users, giving it one of the highest levels of market penetration in Latin America. That is not a niche service. It is a core piece of the country’s transportation infrastructure, built on the labor of tens of thousands of workers whose legal status the courts have now begun to recognize and whose economic survival continues to be squeezed by the commission structure.
The question of whether Uber’s take rate in Costa Rica is fair has a straightforward answer. The harder question is what happens next.
