The $39 Solution to a Fried MacBook Air Keyboard

When you’re trying to convince an Apple Store Genius that your nine-month-old MacBook Air inexplicably stopped working and you most certainly did not pour a steaming cup of coffee all over it, there’s one question you definitely don’t want to hear: How come it smells like hazelnut?

So as I walked away with a $750 repair estimate and the world’s thinnest $1799 paperweight, I pondered my options: 1) toss it in the river and wait for all those tablet rumors to come true; 2) stab it repeatedly and buy a ThinkPad; or 3) try my hand at fixing it.

After some lengthy looks at my carving knife, the latter option won out.

It’s not as if I’m a complete stranger to do-it-yourself Mac repairs. Back when I owned a Power Mac G4, I upgraded the processor and hard drive, swapped out the graphics card for an NVIDIA GeForce4 Ti, modded the case with a blue led, and fixed a pesky buzzing speaker. And before I sold it to raise funds for my MBA purchase, I fitted my 17-inch PowerBook G4 with a speedier, larger hard drive.

But that’s bush league compared to a complete disassembly of one of the most expensive Macs I’ve ever owned. (Of course, the stress level is significantly lessened when the computer does little more than emit the not-so-faint aroma of flavored coffee, but it’s still pretty low on my list of would-be guinea pigs.) So I took a deep breath, armed myself with a Phillips #00 screwdriver, tiny flathead and T6 Torx, and went to work.

Really screwed

A few notes before we begin. As far as spills go, this one seemed particularly nasty. A near-full 12-ounce mug of very hot coffee (no milk or sugar) landed almost in its entirety on my laptop, and I did very little to stop its path of destruction. Not only did I not shut it down, my immediate reaction (after grabbing a boatload of paper towels and placing them unmethodically on the keyboard) was to to pull a bunch of important files over my network. When I finally shut it down a few minutes later, it performed the cycle as it should; but I didn’t turn it over or try to dry it any way until several hours later, when it was clearly too late.

The first thing I gathered (besides my trio of mini magnetic tools and a healthy disdain for Apple’s team of Geniuses) was a series of labeled cups, which I crudely fashioned from small bits of paper. Apple may have trimmed the girth from the newest member of its MacBook family, but there’s certainly no shortage of screws in the thing. Once the bottom case was unfastened (10 screws) and the powerful aroma of week-old coffee dissipated, I went to work at removing the giant battery.

Nine more screws later, I gave the cable a slight tug to disconnect it from the logic board and the battery easily pulled out. A few Handi Wipes took care of the streaks of coffee that peppered the underside, and I set it aide.

With the battery gone, the neat internal design became abundantly clear, with the logic board, hard drive, and a host of cables and ribbons all ripe for for the picking. While there didn’t seem to be any definitive place to begin (though some pieces are obviously dependent on another’s removal), the hard drive (and, by extension, USB port and speaker) was the most logical.

I opted to tackle the most delicate pieces first and began to loosen the amber data ribbons–1) pulling up the largest’s black tab unsnapped it from the logic board; 2) GENTLY unsticking the smaller audio cable offshoot separated it from the case and allowed me to easily shimmy it out of its port; and 3) utilizing my flathead as a spudger popped up the hard drive ribbon (just below the fan).

Four screws held the drive in place (two in back, one in front, and one by the fan) and another four secured the USB hatch in place. Finally, one little guy next to the left hinge helped the mic cable stay clamped down.

Break it down

By now, the whole complicated arrangement should have pulled cleanly away from the case — that is, if I had known there was a tiny screw hidden below a cover near the right rear corner of the drive. Presumably, it’s supposed to be delicately pried off its adhesive perch, giving way to the final peg. (But if that doesn’t work, you can always do what I did: Yank and twist the hard drive until the cover, screw and housing all snap off in one fell swoop.)

After logging my first broken piece, I removed the speaker (2 screws), gingerly unstuck the audio cable from the case and lifted out the whole contraption, including the attached ribbon and cable.

At this point of the disassembly–with the bottom case, battery, hard drive, port hatch, speaker, 31 screws and one useless broken tab all labeled and separated–I’d pretty much reached the point of no return. Save for the stains on the battery case, I hadn’t found anything to indicate my liquid enemy had inflicted damage of any kind, and my plight was quickly becoming personal. I wanted to prove the Genius wrong. (Or at least knock him down a peg.)

With nary a notion of how to actually go about fixing the thing, however, my teardown strategy consisted of little more than a reckless and gleeful disregard for Apple’s warranty. But I wasn’t about to let something as insignificant as a Core 2 Duo processor stand in my way.

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If you can’t stand the heat… (Click to embigen)

After an army of screws and ribbons, the next step was surprisingly light on the heavy lifting. After disconnecting the fan cable (by gently tugging on its cord) and unfastening the pair of visible screws along the edge of the heat sink, the only mildly tricky part came in the form of a silly plastic hunk that fit snugly along the fan’s top edge.

But this time I was wise to Apple’s random screw hunt. I pried the piece away using my trusty flathead and took care of the small screw was hiding underneath. The final fastener sat in the center of the heat sink, holding an L-shaped bar in place. (iFixit calls it a processor clamp, though it doesn’t appear to do a whole lot of clamping.)

A quick perusal of the logic board suggested a task that required my complete and undivided attention, so I took a break and sauntered to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. (And no, I don’t need to be made aware of the irony, so kindly keep your comments to yourself.)

Pry, pry again

With most of the case empty, the logic board lay out before me like a wounded albatross begging to be put out of its misery. A series of still-attached ribbons and cables stretched in every which way might have been daunting an hour ago, but by now I was no longer a novice.

First up was the microphone wire (found nestled under a piece of black electrical tape at the top left edge of the board), followed by the MagSafe cable on the right side. The display cable (top right) was slightly more difficult, requiring the removal of a screw clip to give it a little slack. Once I could grip the wire, it slid out after just a few jerks.

(Speaking of jerks, the coffee that the Apple Genius said had voided my warranty was still nowhere to be found. What I could see of the case was bone-dry and the logic board was clean and clear of any signs of nastiness.)

Two more pried-up ribbons and a small bracket (held by two small screws), and the logic board was ready to be lifted off its perch. Once it was out, removing the MacSafe connector was as easy as disconnecting another set of screws.

Coming up for Air

That left the two ribbons that ran down the bottom of the logic board; the first (Trackpad), connected to the right-center edge of the keyboard area, would prove to be trickiest. Rather than the usual snap-in connector, this piece locked into its slot by way of a teeny-tiny clamp. Using the edge of my flathead, I was able to flip up the microscopic clasp after only a few miscues; once it was raised, the cable easily slid out and peeled off the case.

The final tethered ribbon led to the Airport module, which sat obediently in its seat at the bottom right corner of the case. Two screws held the cover and board in place, and another sticky ribbon was added to my collection. While free from the case, however, the Airport unit remained attached to a lengthy cable that wound its way up the right side of the case, along its back edge and disappeared into the bezel.

And I was done. Or at least it seemed that way.

Once I was able to inspect the keyboard, the cause of my MBA’s downfall became painfully obvious. Underneath the keyboard insulation sheet (which the so-called Genius had sliced into, presumably to get a glimpse of the carnage) there lay sufficient evidence of trouble–or at least where said trouble began brewing. The LED plate was appropriately littered with coffee stains and clearly bore the brunt of the spill. Cleaning it seemed fruitless, so I hit the Internet to see what I could find in the way of parts.

All said, there are just 20 pieces (including the battery) that can be replaced via Apple’s parts list. With 19 of them seemingly in tip-top shape, I narrowed my problem down to just one: Top Case w/Keyboard (922-8315). Prices ran the gamut, from a high of $295 to a lows in the double-digits. (A quick plug for eBay seller e-magic, who offers a wide variety of Apple parts at very affordable prices, including the MacBook Air top case that I bought for less than $40.)

But, there was just one eensy-weensy, itsy-bitsy chore left while I waited my order to arrive.

Crunch time

With a pile of cables, boards and screws that used to be my MacBook Air, I was ready for the last step in “Operation: Genius.” Part #661-4590, better know as the Display Clamshell. If taking apart an $1800 computer is scary, dismantling a part that costs more than some PC laptops is downright terrifying.

So what’s the best way to tackle such a beast? I’d like to tell you, but I’m pretty sure breaking it into eight pieces isn’t it.
The process started out well enough. I followed the still-attached Airport module’s antennae and removed the six screws that held it in place. Once safely out of the way, seven clutch cover screws and four Torx hinge screws stood between my finishing of the job. I removed the hinge screws first, as they were easier to access.

With the hinges unsecured, the temptation to twist the case was oddly overwhelming, even after a bit of resistance that ought to have thrown up a caution flag. For whatever reason, I thought the case would slide out independent of the clutch, leaving the remaining screws ripe for the plucking.

Turns out they’re connected. And it just so happens they don’t like being separated.

Three twists, two jerks and a slight wretch later and the display promptly cracked seven times–once for each of the remaining screws. Crestfallen, the display easily slid away from the top case and I unscrewed the seven broken pieces of plastic, which I placed in the appropriate paper cup.

And there you have it. It wasn’t the prettiest of disassemblies, but it was done.
Three days later, my $39 part arrived and I went back to work reassembling. My greatest fears were quickly allayed, as the display attached nearly as well with six clutch screws as it had with 13. (My mutilation was barely perceptible, in fact.) Things went back together slowly, but surprisingly smoothly, until I was left with 21 screws and a bottom case that took 10 of them.

Ah, well. Close enough.

Suffice to say, I wouldn’t have been given so much space on this Web site if my story didn’t have a happy ending. So yes, my MBA is up and running again, like the whole mess never happened. My self-repair saved $711 over Apple’s quote (though completely voided the remaining three months on the warranty), and left me feeling rather smug and not unlike the Genius that scorned me. Even if I had bought the most expensive case I found, the job still would have come in some 60 percent cheaper than I would have paid Apple.

I know auto mechanics who don’t charge that much of a premium–and they certainly don’t presume to call themselves geniuses. I’ve got half a mind to set up a Dunce Bar outside my mall’s Apple Store and make a few bucks until I get served a cease-and-desist order.

Besides, these geniuses aren’t all that smart anyway. It wasn’t hazelnut coffee that fried my laptop. It was chocolate cappuccino.