Return Of The Cicada Killers

I work in Newton, Massachusetts. At the building where I work, we have an interesting and recurring insect problem. Every July, the Cicada Killers come out to play.

If you've never encountered a Cicada Killer, you're missing something big. And I do mean BIG. They are the largest damned wasps I've ever seen. Here is a picture that provides some idea of their size.



And that doesn't really do them justice. When they're alive and flying around, they're actually bigger. They stretch out to full length and you also have the wingspan to consider. The thing about them, though, is that they appear dangerous, but are actually almost completely harmless. Unless you're a cicada, of course, in which case they will KILL YOU.

The first time a visitor to our building encounters them flying around near our entrance, they're likely to get frightened. You can't blame someone for feeling that way. These things are almost big enough to saddle and most wasps would just as soon sting you as look at you. However, here is the thought process of a Cicada Killer:

He flies up to within ten inches of your chest and looks you over.

He says, "Duh... are you a cicada? Doy... guess not! Ooooh, look! I think that's a cicada over there!"

He flies off to look at a big rock.

A minute or so later, he comes back to within ten inches of your chest. He looks you over.

He says, "Duh... are you sure you're not a cicada? Doy... guess not! Ooooh, look! I think that's a cicada over there!"

He flies off to have a look at a Buick.

And so on.

After a while, you know they won't harm you. So, you walk through bunches of them, telling them, "Get out of my way, you stupid bastards!" And they do, too.

Some folks in this building kill them. Why? I suppose because it makes them feel big or something. I can't imagine a less thrilling sport than hunting these thick-as-a-brick creatures. I mean, they fly right up to within a foot-or-so of you, with no more guile or reticence than Paris Hilton. Where's the thrill in bringing your boot down on such a thing as that? Hell, if I took one of my softball bats out of the trunk of my car at lunchtime, I could swat them all out into the street by the time my lunch hour was over. Big deal.

I like to watch them, actually. They're amazingly industrious, once they figure out you're not something to eat. When building a nest, they get down on the ground and dig dirt like a dog, throwing it out with their hind legs in prodigious amounts. I've gone into work in the morning, not a sand mound of theirs in sight, and come out in the evening and seen four or five piles, each four inches high and maybe ten inches in circumference. Dug by ONE wasp, mind you. That's like you or me building a three-story house in a day.

Alone.

With only our legs.

And while taking time off to go up to passing tractor-trailers and see if they're good to eat. Or something like that.

Oh, one last thing, in case you didn't click on the link above and find this out already? The Cicada-Killer adults don't actually kill the cicadas. The females - since the males have no stinger - paralyze the cicada and transport it back to the nest. They then place the still-living-but-paralyzed cicada in the nest with a new Cicada-Killer egg. When the new one hatches, it eats the cicada.

(Yuck! I'm mighty glad I'm not a cicada!)

(As are you, no doubt.)

They all go away by the end of August at the latest, having finally caught a cicada and laid eggs and whatever else they do during their brief lifespan - perhaps catch a Buffett concert or some other summery activity like that. Anyway, if you run into some of them, just say, "Get out of my way, you stupid bastards!" Unless you actually are a cicada, in which case you're toast, pal.

Soon, with more better stuff.