So, I had this mouse that I’d been using for about two years when suddenly it started acting up—losing its drag and missing clicks. A quick internet search revealed the culprit: a faulty switch inside the mouse button. I figured I could handle swapping out a switch on a circuit board, so I hit up an online shop and ordered a replacement switch. Two days later, it arrived, and I immediately heated up my soldering iron and began dismantling the mouse. After unscrewing about ten screws and removing the body and battery socket, I managed to free a small green circuit board with a tiny switch soldered onto it.
At first, I thought, ‘Just melt the solder on the three legs and pop the switch off—easy peasy.’ But it was trickier than I thought. The solder would solidify the instant I melted it, making it impossible to remove all three legs simultaneously. With only two hands, I couldn’t keep the soldering iron in place while separating the board and switch. Even if I had a third hand, it wouldn’t be easy to melt all three solders at once. To properly remove it, I’d need three soldering irons and at least five hands! Even if I magically had five hands, there’s no way I’d buy three soldering irons. The marvel of automated mass production is real, but it wasn’t the time to be impressed while my mouse lay disassembled in front of me.
I turned to a wise soul for help.
After explaining the situation from start to finish, the wise soul took a look at the circuit board, pondering it for a moment. Was the answer really five hands and three soldering irons? Yet, soon enough, they told me to grab the soldering iron and connect it.
‘Removing components soldered on a board without damaging it is no small feat.’
I knew this all too well from my own clumsy attempts.
‘Typically, you’d use a solder sucker to remove the melted solder, then just pop out the component.’
Oh, there was a tool for that?
‘But since we don’t have one now, we’ll try something else. The switch legs are too long, causing the solder to solidify before we can pull them out. Let’s just cut them short.’
The wise soul clipped the three legs so short they were barely visible. I diligently picked up each tiny piece that sprang to the floor, tossing them into the trash. I didn’t want to feel completely useless, but no compliments came my way—perhaps they didn’t notice my efforts. Tossing them in the trash, I thought, ‘Phew, glad I found all three,’ regretting not saying it out loud. Meanwhile, the wise soul heated the solder and tried to separate the switch, but it still wouldn’t budge easily.
‘The three legs are just too tightly soldered together; we definitely need to remove the solder.’
But alas, no solder sucker in sight.
‘Hand me some solder. We’ll melt more onto it, make a bigger blob, and use inertia to pull it off.’
That was a novel idea! To all those older folks who claim creativity is for the young, just admit it: you never thought of this when you were young either! It’s not that your brain cells have decayed, you just weren’t born with creative flair. The wise soul melted the solder onto the switch, then slammed the board on the table. After a few hits, the solder fell away like magic, leaving only the legs visible in the board’s holes. Repeating the process, the switch dropped effortlessly from the board. It was incredible.
‘Alright, hand me the new switch.’
With skillful hands, the wise soul melted the solder onto the iron, deftly applying it to the switch legs to secure it to the board. It was like a textbook demonstration of soldering perfection. One by one, they fixed the three legs onto the board, and I watched every move breathlessly, hoping to replicate it later. Once finished, they handed me the board with the new switch, casually returning to their YouTube clips as if nothing had happened. Cool as ever. I thanked them and went back to reassemble the scattered switch parts. Even though I was fast at screwing them back together, a sense of gloom lingered. Sure, I could screw things in quickly, but I couldn’t even desolder a switch from a board properly.
Feeling empty, I completed the assembly and booted up my computer to test the mouse. But the cursor was nowhere in sight. Turning the mouse off and on, reinserting the dongle—nothing worked. Suddenly, the memory of the wise soul slamming the board to remove the solder flashed in my mind. The noise had been quite loud, and I realized that kind of force might have broken even a perfectly good mouse.
I ordered a solder sucker from an online shop for next time.
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