Ask a summertime picnicker what their biggest annoyance is, and the answer will likely be “bees.” Landing on uncovered food and drink with impunity, these insects aren’t particularly inclined to leave once they’ve tasted the ambrosial offerings that constitute the average picnic. If irate diners press the issue by brandishing paper plates and rolled newspapers, they won’t hesitate to defend their newfound bounty with a sting. Or four.
That latter ability is perhaps the most-acute indication that the prime suspects in a typical picnic raid are not bees at all. In all likelihood, the culprits are actually close cousins to the bees: wasps. Unlike bees, which can sting only once—the process is ultimately fatal to them—wasps can sting multiple times and buzz merrily away (assuming that they aren’t crushed by their outraged victims).
Even the most-uninterested observer can distinguish them in ways that don’t involve being pumped full of venom, though. While the bees and wasps constitute some 20,000 species each—both groups belong to the order Hymenoptera, which also contains ants—the insects most likely to be conflated are honeybees (Apis mellifera) and any of several representatives of the wasp genera Vespula (commonly known as yellow jackets).
If you take a look at the insects, you can see what causes the confusion. Both yellow jackets and honeybees are somewhat bullet-shaped striped insects with wings. (Bees are thought by some entomologists to have evolved from predatory wasps.) However, closer examination of both their appearances and their behavior reveals some key differences.
Unlike honeybees, which sport a light coat of downy hair—some of which assists in collecting pollen for later consumption by attracting it with static electricity as they sip nectar from flowers—yellow jackets sport a spartan crew cut more suitable to their proclivities for hunting other insects and scavenging in order to feed their larval siblings. (Adult yellow jackets subsist on nectar and other sources of sugars. They hunt animal food only to nourish their squirmy white little sisters, which in return secrete a nourishing fluid.) Yellow jackets exhibit further adaptations to their raiding ways: aerodynamic and nipped at the waist, they are perfectly suited to taking down other insects or darting in to grab their share of whatever carrion and waste is on offer. Honeybees, in contrast, have no need of such exacting maneuverability as they bop from flower to flower; this is reflected in their more-rounded form, their bodies not tapering to the fighter-jet points of the yellow jacket. So, too, it is reflected in their neighborly absence from your outdoor repast; the human palate craves victuals totally unappetizing to bees.
The next time, then, that one of your lunch companions bolts from the picnic table sounding the bee alarm, you might advise him or her as to the true identity of the culprit. And then, once the spread has been safely sealed from prying insects, perhaps invite your companions for a stroll and, along with the real bees, stop and enjoy the flowers.